


It's Not Alright, but I'll Pretend Until I Break

by Enjolras1832



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Gen, Marius bashing (?) perhaps just a bit...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras1832/pseuds/Enjolras1832
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for Les Mis LJ Kink Meme Round 1 "In most fic, Enjolras accidentally hurts people because he has the social grace of a hermit and is exceedingly emotionally constipated. I think that there's a flip side though, that because his outward range of emotions is equal to that of marble, people don't realize when they've hurt him. All I really want is an angst driven fic of Enjolras being hurt on the inside and no one realizing until eventually someone does. As angsty and depressing as possible, with maybe a toss of fluff at the end. (I'm sorry, I'm just a glutton for sadness involving my favorite characters.)" {page 35}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a while since I've actually written a fan fic, but this prompt triggered something in the back of my head and I had to sit down and write, so I hope that this is alright.

“…And that’s a wrap up for today’s meeting. I’ll see you all tomorrow night.”

Enjolras ignored the groans at that announcement. He had been running late, having had a meeting with Valjean for his thesis, and in turn, the meeting was ending late and the still hadn’t managed to cover everything that they were supposed to have.

Frowning momentarily, he wondered if they had expected any different. There was a protest coming up in a couple of weeks, and they were hardly as well prepared for it; in fact, they had hardly even started to prepare for it. He noticed Marius hesitantly approaching him in his peripheral vision. Restraining a sigh, as he could already imagine where this conversation was going to go, he decided that a direct approach was probably his best bet.

“Yes Marius? Is there something I can help you with?” he asked without looking up from where he was packing up his books and papers. He felt more than seen Marius start and he barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes: you would think that they would know him well enough to recognize that he was rather aware of what was going on around him even if he decided to ignore it for the most part.

“…Well, I was…I mean, I was hoping that…well, that…” Marius stuttered out, before he stopped and tried again with the same results. Sighing Enjolras cut him off.

“Breath Marius. It often helps when one is trying to say something.” Not looking up, he couldn’t have realized that they all assumed that he was mocking Marius and missed the frown that marred Combeferres’ face and the way Jehan scowled at him.

“I have a date with Cosette tomorrow evening” Marius finally said in a rush. Enjolras didn’t stop in his packing.

“And…”

“Well, Cosette and I have a date” Marius returned bluntly. Had Enjolras have looked up, he would’ve noticed the slight drunken flush on Marius’ face, but his concern was focused rather on what still had to be done and not on Marius. Sighing, he tried again to see what this meant for the group as a whole.

“How does that affect me again? I’ve already told you that we have a meeting tomorrow evening. You’ll simply have to cancel your date.” Marius hesitated before finding the drunken courage to say what was on his mind.

“I realize that you don’t care, its not like you haven’t said it often enough, but some of us do have personal lives and just because this _is_ your personal life doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t have one. We want to live our lives Enjolras, we don’t want to watch it pass us by as we fight for some inane cause that the vast majority of us know won’t actually get us anywhere!”

Marius’ speech was followed by applause from his fellows, including Courfeyrac, who Enjolras had considered as a close friend. Enjolras paused, hurt, but Marius continued. “Your lack of friends and family does not mean that we don’t have any either!” Another cheer, this one with a bit of mocking laughter went up throughout the crowd. 

Enjolras looked up at everyone and realizing that even his closest friends—his lieutenants—agreed with it Marius’ point. _Not, evidently, his closest friends_ , his mind corrected him, because they didn’t think that he had any friends: Marius had just said as much and everybody agreed. Not one of them had reacted to the pronouncement with anger or surprise on his behalf: they all agreed. Feeling betrayed, not for the first time that week, Enjolras prepared to comment before being cut off by Marius.

“I’m going on my date with Cosette!” Whoops of agreement, as well as what was must likely a catcall from Grantaire, followed from the crowd. Stiffening, not that he expected them to notice, Enjolras looked back down and hurriedly finished packing.

“Very well; I’m assuming that the rest of you want the same: a night off?” Hearing no disagreement, and not looking up, he assumed that he was right, not realizing that they were all too stunned to react. “As you wish: perhaps I shall see you at the meeting Monday? Splendid.” Before he could hear them mock his cause as they had mocked him, or mock him further as he was half afraid they would, he quickly muttered a good bye and left quickly through the door, just avoiding running down the stairs, out the doors and onto the street.

The fresh air filling his lungs, he was thankful for the first time that he had been forced to park so far away because of how late he had arrived. It meant that he could concentrate instead on the cold and on the walk instead of thinking of the cruel words that someone he had considered a friend had thrown at him so casually. Instead of thinking of the way that not one of his friends {not even those he considered his closest!} had tried to defend him. Getting to his car, he threw his things in the back and got behind the wheel.

Enjolras breathed out, laying his head against the steering wheel, hearing those words swirling around in his head: _your lack of friends and family does not mean that we don’t have any either!_ Apparently, the walk hadn’t done as much good as he had hoped. Those words were joined by others that they had thrown at him in mocking: _marble statue_ , _fearless leader_ , _heartless_ , _cruel_ , _terrible…_

He knew that returning to the apartment that he shared with Combeferre wouldn’t help to get his mind off of those words: knew that they would not leave him alone. He longed for company, but the only ones that he talked to and trusted { _had_ trusted his mind spit at him angrily} were the same ones that he was running from. Which meant he had nowhere to go.

But that wasn’t true either.

There was one other place that he could still go to, he remembered suddenly. It was somewhere he hadn’t been in years and someone that he hadn’t seen in years, but Enjolras knew that he wouldn’t be thrown out. Likely, he would be able to talk freely, without judgement or masks.

Thinking of it in those terms made the decision easy. He was going to go see Julian. Just because these new friends that he had thought he’d made didn’t know anything about his life before them didn’t mean that he hadn’t had one. Julian would let him in because he was Enjolras and Julian trusted him.

And Julian would listen.

And Julian would hold him.

And Julian wouldn’t judge. 

Hesitating briefly, he made a snap decision for the first time in a long time and started the car. He wasn’t going home; there was nothing for him there but reminders of their cruel words. Instead, he was going elsewhere: there was someone he was going to go see first.

 

*** 

 

Despite having left, everyone remained frozen where they had been when Enjolras had been there. No one was sure how to react, least of all Marius.

When they had noticed that Enjolras hadn’t yet showed up, they had all started drinking: just a little bit to warm up after coming inside from the cold air. Between Courfeyrac and Grantaire though, a single drink had quickly turned into multiple drinks and soon, there were some of them who were more than a little drunk—especially Marius, who had quickly become the focus of the two of them since Enjolras wasn’t there. Besides, getting him drinking was also a good way to shut up his rambling about Cosette.

And they were all sick of hearing about Cosette.

But now, Enjolras had left them alone to their own devices and had given them a night off. Technically, he had given them the weekend off, because he had told them that he would see them Monday. Never before had Enjolras given them a night off when he didn’t think it was necessary for them, or when Combeferre hadn’t intervened to make it happen because everyone needed a break. Enjolras held them to almost as high a standard as he held himself.

Not to say that any of them were complaining: a night off would be nice. Marius finally stopped gapping at the door and broke the silence, breaking everyone out of the moment.

“Did that actually just happen? Did…did _Enjolras_ just give us the night off?”

“It seems like it…” Jehan said faintly.

“Fearless leader; o! Apollo by another name! He hath presented we mere mortals with a gift! For surely he must be returning to Olympus and…” Before Grantaire could continue his allusions to the world of Ancient Greece, Combeferre cut him off.

“Its not like its never happened before...” he started only to notice the looks of shock that everyone was giving him. “So perhaps its not a common occurrence but he’s given us nights off before…” he mumbled. Still looking incredulous, Courfeyrac paused before shrugging. 

“I’m not complaining! I have a date with Mandy…or is it Mindy…perhaps Amanda?…anyways, I have a date tomorrow evening and I, for one, am glad that he has given us the evening off.” Smiling brightly, he threw an arm around Marius. “Why, if I had known that getting you drunk and setting you on Enjolras would mean that we would get a night off, I would’ve done it ages ago! Another drink for our friend!” Laughter followed his comments as they continued drinking and laughing the night away.

 

***

 

Enjolras hesitated outside, unsure if he would even be wanted within or not. Coming here had sounded like a better idea before he actually got here.

It had been a long time since he had talked to Julian: a lot longer than it should’ve been, but they both became easily distracted and they’d simply fallen out of touch. Or rather, they didn’t talk often: a call around Christmas and birthdays, sometimes once or twice in the summer, but very seldom in general. No one else even knew of Julian’s existence because he’d never seen it as important to share.

_Not that they’d ever asked either_ , his mind continued bitterly. Shaking his head, he returned to his musings on Julian.

Julian was something that was his and his alone: they shared ideals, they shared passions, and Julian had never shown a need to meet his friends the same way that he had never met Julians’.

Enjolras wondered how he would be received and took the picture of the two of them out of his wallet. He was curious if he had changed at all—at the time, they were almost identical, simply younger and older. Calmly, he decided he was here and he might as well try.

He would never know how his younger brother was if he never knocked on his door.

Almost in a haze, he got out of the car, walked to the door, and knocks on the door before he could talk himself into getting back in his car and driving away. He could hear the TV from inside, the musical theme from some show he was unfamiliar with floating from inside on the wind of the evening breeze.

Hesitating only for a moment more, he knocked again, harder this time. At that, Enjolras could hear the start of motion from inside and then Julian’s voice calling out: “just a minute!” before the door was swung open and he was met with the visage of his younger brother for the first time in almost 4 years.

Julian hadn’t changed a lot—his hair was still long, his eyes were still steel blue, and he was still even more petite than Enjolras himself. Frankly, Enjolras thought to himself with a small smile, his brother didn’t look like he’d grown at all. Julian still smiled the same way, making slight dimples high on his checks, and the smile still shone through in his eyes. His smile fell slightly as his mouth opened in shock when he seen who it was that was at the door. The shock didn’t last very long as Enjolras suddenly found himself pulled into a vicious hug by Julian.

His soul easing a bit as someone accepted him: accepted by someone that he hadn’t even seen in a long time. To Julian, it didn’t matter, because Enjolras was still as important to him right now as he had been when they had been close. The feeling of his little brother close to him; feeling his heart beat and the warm of his breath against his neck had Enjolras smiling sadly and wondering why he hadn’t come sooner.

Because for better or for worse, Julian was family and would always accept him.

No matter his flaws.

No matter his mistakes.

No matter if his _friends_ thought that he had no friends or family and was made of marble.

No matter what, Julian would always accept him without a second thought.

Because he was Enjolras, and he was Julian’s brother. And for Julian, that was reason enough to pull away from Enjolras with a smile, notice his sad smile, frown slightly, take his brother’s arm and lead him inside.

And Enjolras had never been happier to make a snap decision before in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

It was an odd feeling, sitting on his younger brother’s couch in a living room he had only been in once. Looking around, he couldn’t help but quirk his lips in a smile: it didn’t look like Julian had spent a lot, if any, time actually decorating his living room, but rather whatever trinkets he happened to have were on the mantel and the rest of the room was the room of a student: there were books and papers pilled everywhere, a laptop humming away on the coffee table and the TV on but obviously forgotten if the amount of books Julian had moved off of the couch to accommodate the both of them sitting on it was any indication. 

A cup of coffee was pressed into his hands, surprising him out of his musings and forcing him once again to focus on his brother. Julian had another cup of coffee in his hands and he sat on the other end of the couch, crossing his legs and offering his brother a slight smile. Taking a sip, Enjolras couldn’t help but be a little surprised, and then saddened that his brother knew how to make his coffee. 

He knew for a fact that not one of _Les Amis_ had any idea how he liked his coffee. And they had been friends with them for a long time—for some of them, he had been friends with them for longer than the space of time between the last time Julian and he had seen each other for more than a couple of minutes. He felt a hand on his, and he looked up from where he had been starring endlessly into his coffee into the kind of eyes of his little brother instead. A soft smile on his face, his brother started. 

“How have you been Antoine?” It was too much for Enjolras. It had been too long since someone had talked to him in that soft, gentle, caring tone of voice with only true yearning to know how _he_ felt in the question. 

Too long since the last time someone had considered him as more than just a marble statue and seen him as a person—seen him as a man. 

Too long since someone had called him by the given name that Enjolras had fastened for himself instead of that stupid nickname of a God he could never match nor amount to, or the name his parents christened him that _he hated_. 

Too long since he had been someone’s primary concern because he was _him_ and not because he was the leader of a protest or revolution. 

Too long for it to have no effect.

Enjolras burst into tears. 

Angry tears; sad tears; he-didn’t-even-know-anymore tears. Instead of laughing, or mocking, as he was sure that any of _Les Amis_ would’ve, Julian pulled him into his arms and held him close, rocking him slightly. His face pressed into the juncture of his brother’s next, with soothing hands rubbing his back, he let himself cry for the first time in a long time. He didn’t have to be strong: Julian would be strong for him. 

So he cried. He cried for the words that were thrown at him without thinking. He cried for the way that he would never been seen as more than a marble statue of an ancient Greek god come to life to the very people he considered as friends. He cried as their words rang in his ears again. He cried that he hadn’t seen Julian in years, and still Julian seemed to care more than anyone that he seen on a daily basis. 

He cried for what could be, for what should be and for what was. 

He cried until he ran out of tears to cry with, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes. His sobs subsided into hiccups and then nothing; instead Enjolras stayed held in his brother’s arms and contentedly stayed there, warm, safe and care for, for the first time in a long time. 

“Feel a little better?” he heard Julian ask him from above him, and all he could do was nod in agreement. “Good” was the response and his brother left it at that, still holding him close. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Enjolras asked, muffled as it was from his position. He left his brother shift a little bit, pulling him a little bit closer, before answering easily.

“If you want to talk about it, you’ll talk about it, and you won’t talk about it before you’re ready to talk about it or until you want to talk about it. If all you need is for me to hold you, I’ll hold you.” Tears he didn’t know that he had left came to his eyes. 

Coming to see Julian was the right decision. His emotional unloading had left him tired and he didn’t want to go home and he wanted to stay here. Actually, he wanted to sleep in his brother’s arms, but he knew he couldn’t ask for _that_. He was a grown man, not 12. 

Before he could talk himself out of asking he blurted out “can I stay here tonight?” and blushing brightly as he realized what that sounded like, and he bit his bottom lip. He heard Julian chuckle softly before a hand gently rubbed his back and pulled him a little closer and tilted his face so they could look each other in the eyes.

There was no mocking there, no judgement. Just kindness, love and understanding and Enjolras felt peace fill him as Julian talked. 

“You honestly thought I was going to let you drive home after that? Antoine, just because you’re not ready to talk doesn’t mean that I’m going to throw you out.” Julian paused for the first time that evening, seemingly reading Enjolras’ mind. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight? Its not like my bed isn’t big enough, and I’d feel better if you were with me…” 

Nodding timidly, he felt his brother gently let him go and he unwrapped his hands from around his brother. His brother chuckled a little bit, making Enjolras tilt his head to the side, looking at his brother curiously. Julian smiled at him. 

“Just let me put these in the sink” he said, indicating the cups of coffee he had picked up, both of which were more than half full, “and then we’ll head to bed.” Enjolras started to protest. “No, don’t argue with me.” Enjolras closed his mouth. “You’re exhausted Antoine, even if you don’t often show it. I refuse to allow you to drive yourself into the ground again. You’re going to hand over your phone, which I’m going to turn off, and I’m going to turn off the alarm on the clock— _it’s a Friday, Antoine, you have no classes tomorrow,_ _do not interrupt_ —and you’re going to have a full nights sleep. Okay?” 

Enjolras looked at his brother. “When did you become such a drill sergeant?” he asked with amused wonder. He couldn’t remember Julian ever being that forceful. Ever. It was amusing to watch his kid brother, who had always done what he’d said, giving him orders. Julian just smiled at him softly and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“You taught me. I’ll be right back.” Enjolras watched his brother leave through the far doorway and leaned back against the couch. It was nice to not have to worry about anything, to have someone take the reigns for the once. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to give up his phone, but he had a feeling that it would be worth it to spend the night here with Julian. Hesitating, he took his phone out of his pocket. Maybe they had realized what they’d said and apologized? 

No messages. 

Frowning, he turned his phone off and looked at the blank screen. It was finally sinking in. They really didn’t care about him: they didn’t care that words hurt; that the words were like daggers being driven into his back and they continued laughing and drinking…ignoring the way that they’d stabbed him to the core. 

He didn’t realize that he had started crying softly again until he felt arms wrap around him and there was a kiss pressed to the top of his head. “Come on, Antoine,” he heard Julian say softly from above him “let’s go to bed. Hush, ‘Toine, its alright. We’re just going to head to bed, okay?” 

Sniffling softly, Enjolras nodded and pushed himself off the couch. Julian tentatively pulled the phone from his hand, made sure it was turned off and then placed it instead on top of the bookshelf as they passed it. Gently, Julian guided him to his bedroom: up the stairs, down the hall, through a doorway. Julian left him in the doorway and pulled a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt out of his bottom drawer and smiling handed them to him. Enjolras took them, looking at the room.

“You weren’t lying when you said that you had room.” Julian laughed softly, before gently pushing Enjolras into the bathroom. 

“Get changed, ‘Toine, and we’ll go to bed.” Nodding, Enjolras started getting changed, hesitating only to look at his forearms, before quickly shutting the door between them, not wanting Julian to see. Julian didn’t know: no one knew. 

Cutting was his little secret.

When he had first gone off to university, he had been alone. There had been no friends, no acquaintances he wanted to be friends with, no social life in general and he had cut himself a couple of times, hoping that it would help. It had helped a little bit, but he knew that it wasn’t a solution, so as soon as he met Combeferre, he had stopped cutting.

Well, rather, he’d stopped cutting on a regular basis. 

Every once in a while, when things were bad and he was stressed, he’d turn back to cutting because he knew the release that was possible with just a little cut could make everything better. When words that he couldn’t defend against were thrown at him, he’d cut. Now, even here with Julian, the words still circled and he had to make them stop. Hesitating only for a moment, he knew it would help. 

Looking quickly at the door, he bit his lip. Was the risk worth it? Did he really want to do this? What would happen if Julian caught him? Another quick look at the door assured him that Julian wasn’t coming in, so he opened the cabinet door and smiled sadly when he seen a razor. That could work. Wasn’t his first choice, but it would work. Grabbing it, he gently placed the razor to his space just below his elbow and applied enough pressure for it to cut and kept pressing until he couldn’t help the hiss that came with the pain. Shaking, he dragged the razor across, again and again until…

“What are you doing?” Julian’s voice was curious and Enjolras spun around without really thinking. He hadn’t noticed the door opening and now he couldn’t even hide it, because he’d spun so quickly. Cursing himself, he curled inwards, hoping maybe Julian would leave it alone. 

Enjolras should’ve known better. 

Julian’s eyes went wide with surprise before they dampened with sadness. “Oh ‘Toine…” Instead of a lecture on how he was weak, how he shouldn’t be doing this, his brother gently pulled the razor from his hand; Enjolras letting it go, feeling weak. There was no judgement in his brother, as Julian grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them against the cuts he’d made to stop the sluggish bleeding. 

Calmly, Julian placed Enjolras’ hands over the paper and took the razor. To Enjolras’ surprise, his brother opened the window, and threw the razor out of it then closed the window, before re-opening the cabinet and grabbing his first aid kit. “Bed” he said softly, gently pushing him to the door, and meekly, Enjolras obeyed. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Julian silently treated the cuts Enjolras had made. Enjolras couldn’t help but squirm a little bit: some kind of reaction was better than no reaction at all. When Julian finished, he went to get up but Enjolras grabbed his arm and Julian turned to him. 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he asked softly again, looking down. He felt Julian sit down beside him, and then felt his hand running through his hair. The softness of the gentle caress made him hesitate before looking up. Julian caught his eyes, gently pulling him closer to him and smiling at him sadly. 

“’Toine, you keep asking me that.” Julian looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read in his eyes. “Do you want me to ask about it? Its not that I’m not interested, ‘Toine, I just didn’t think you wanted to talk about it just yet.” Enjolras hesitated before shaking his head. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. 

Julian grabbed his chin and forced him to look him in the eye. “I realize I am the younger brother, but right now, you need me and you don’t have to keep up any kind of masks, ‘Toine. I can tell you right now, I’ve not letting you leave alone until you’ve explained: you can stay here with me.” Grabbing Enjolras’ hand, Julian pleaded with him. “Let me help you, ‘Toine. I want to help you. What can I do to help you?”

Enjolras looked at Julian’s face and new that he was being honest. Enjolras felt himself melt a little bit as he seen the need to help him race through his brother’s eyes. Rubbing at his own eyes as he felt the tears gathering, he looked away before wrapping his arms around himself loosely. 

“I…I don’t know Jul. I don’t know what I need…I don’t know how you can help, when I don’t even know myself. I just…I don’t want to talk about it…but I need to talk about it. I just, I’m just so…” Julian gently kissed his forehead once again, making Enjolras stop in his rambling. 

“Does me being here help?” Enjolras looked at Julian in surprise.

“More than I think you can ever know, Juls.”

“Okay. For now, that’ll be enough if you don’t want to talk about it yet. Now, you’re still exhausted ‘Toine so lay down and sleep.” Enjolras starred at his brother, who sighed, pulled him up, pushed back the covers than gently pushed him in. Enjolras couldn’t help it; he pulled Julian down with him. Julian sighed softly. “Okay, ‘Toine, just let me shut off the light. Okay?” Enjolras nodded, burrowing into the covers as Julian got up and turned off the light. 

He heard more than saw his brother shuffle back to the bed and felt him get in beside him. Emotionally drained, he was more than pleased when Julian gently pulled him close and then curled into his side, drawing the covers around them both. 

“Jul?” Enjolras murmured softly, after they’d been lying there a couple of minutes.

“Yeah ‘Toine?” Julian’s voice sounded heavy with sleep even though they’d just lay down. 

“Thank you. For everything.” Julian was silent for a little bit. 

“Oh, ‘Toine.” Julian sounded so sad that Enjolras pulled him closer and pressed a kiss of his own to his brother’s forehead. “You know that I would do anything for you, right? ‘Toine, I love you.” Enjolras froze. It had been a long time since he’d heard someone say those words to him. “’Toine? Are you okay?”

“Say it again.” Enjolras whispered softly. “Please, Juls, say it again.” Julian pulled him close to him, until he could hear his brother’s heartbeat against his chest. 

“I love you. Now sleep, ‘Toine, you’re tired. I’m here. Sleep, brother, and know that you’re safe and that you’re loved.” Julian repeated the words over and over again, softly and gently into his ears, lovingly stroking his hair until Enjolras fell asleep. 

And for the first time in years, Enjolras slept safe, warm and loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was written way faster than I was expecting it to be, but it kind of wrote itself. I probably won't be able to update this quickly often. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Marius...

The sun was high in the sky, nearing midday, when Marius woke up to the single most annoying noise that he’d ever heard.  
  
Or at least it definitely sounded like it in his hungover state. 

Moaning, he turned over, hoping that that would stop the sound. Moving wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had either, he discovered, as his head violently protested the movement. Sighing, he tried to assess himself hoping that would help to put the noise in the distance. 

Or not. 

Because the whole ‘thinking’ thing wasn’t work with his head pounding the way that is was. 

He prayed that the sound would stop so that his head would stop pounding, or, more probably, that at least the sound wouldn’t continue to exacerbate the pounding. 

The sound finally stopped. The pounding in his head didn’t, but at least the sound had stopped for the moment and that seemed to ease the pounding enough for him to think straight. He tried to remember how much exactly he had drunk the night before. Considering that he couldn’t even remember if there had been a meeting last night, or if they’d simply drunk the night away, Marius was pretty sure that he had drunk too much. From the way that his head was pounding, it had been way too much. 

Which was not good.

As he couldn’t see Enjolras just letting the meeting go when they had a…well, when they had a…when they had a…a whatever it was called in a couple of weeks. At least Marius was pretty sure that they had a…he paused, trying to make his brain work. Closing his eyes, he thought hard. A protest. They were planning for a protest that was supposed to happen in a couple of weeks. 

Or at least he was pretty sure they were supposed to have begun planning for the protest the night before. Not that he could remember what they were protesting against. Come to think of it, that was probably the first part of the meeting last night. 

That he couldn’t remember. 

Which meant that he was completely in the dark and there was no way that he would be able to pretend that he knew what was going on. He was going to have to ask someone. There was only one real problem with that plan, the more that he thought about it. 

Everybody had been drinking except for Enjolras, who Marius still wasn’t sure had ever showed up. Which meant that the possibility of nobody knowing what had happened in the meeting was high. Which meant that he was going to have to ask Enjolras. 

And since they hadn’t had a meeting since before midterms, because Enjolras wanted them all to do well on exams, forgetting what they had talked about in the meeting last night was a fantastic way to get him into hot water with Enjolras. 

His head gave a particularly violent throb, reminding him of what exactly it was that had gotten him into said hot water. He was never drinking again, ever. Courfeyrac was in for a serious conversation about human cruelty because he had no idea what else you could call it when you get someone as drunk as his hangover was telling him he was last night. He hoped that his head stopped throbbing soon, because something in the back of his head told him that he couldn’t spend the day in bed. Suddenly, it clicked. 

Oh. _Oh._  

He had a date tonight. With Cosette. 

_Oh shit._

Usually when he had a date with Cosette he tended to “gush about it like a teenager” {or, at least that’s what he’d been told he tended to do. Combeferre could be really harsh when he felt like it}. Add that to drinking…

Groaning, he could only pray that he hadn’t ranted and raved about Cosette {at least not too much!}, because if he had a feeling that if he had spent the meeting talking about Cosette, again…He had already been warned by, well, everybody, that his passionate speeches about Cosette were not speeches that Enjolras enjoyed. At least not during times that were designated for talking about something else: like a protest.

Which was the whole meaning of the meeting last night. 

Or at least it was supposed to have been.

Enjolras was going to kill him. 

Or, at the very least, give him a lecture on what they were trying to accomplish with their meetings. 

He wasn’t sure which was the more severe of the two possible punishments. 

Before he could contemplate further, the sound started up again, seemingly more shrill than the time before. With a grunt, he groped until he found a pillow and then placed it over his head, hoping that it would make that sound go away. His head had been doing so well and all he needed was for the sound to stop. Hopefully, if he just lay there for another moment or so, the sound would stop like it had last time. The plan was executed, Marius waiting less than patiently for this the sound to stop because last time, it hadn’t lasted too long. 

It didn’t work.

The noise didn’t stop. In fact, it just seemed to get even _louder_ and even _more obnoxious_. Curling up and bringing the pillow as close to his ears as he could, he tried ignoring the sound and ignoring the way that his head continued to pound. If he could convince himself that it wasn’t there than it wasn’t there right? Evidently not, he thought miserably as the sound continued. 

After 5 minutes, he realized that whatever was making that sound was not going to stop, no matter how long he waited. Muttering foully about Courfeyrac, Grantaire {as he realized, belatedly, that there was no way that Courfeyrac alone could’ve gotten him that drunk}, and himself, because _‘why in God’s name did he let them get him drunk?’_ , Marius forced himself to get up. 

He immediately sat back down on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands and whimpered. That had been a bad plan. He was pretty sure that his head was literally moments away from lodging a formal complaint about his stupidity. If he stayed here for just a moment or two longer…

But the noise hadn’t stopped either. 

Marius knew that he had to find _whatever the hell it was that was making that noise and make it stop_ , or his head was never going to stop pounding. After another moment, he found the strength to get up and stumble to his desk, as that seemed to be where the sound was coming from. What was it on his desk though that was making that noise? 

Glaring at the desk through eyes squinted with pain he tried to find the noisemaker. His eyes settled on his phone, and he closed his eyes. Someone was phoning him. Of course someone was phoning him; the only other thing in his room that would make a noise that loud was his alarm clock, and it was never turned on during the weekend. The phone stopped ringing. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, thank…

The phone started about again, the silence followed by the noise causing another violent throb. Cursing, he fumbled for his phone, knowing that the only way to shut it up was to answer it. He hoped it was an emergency, because he would not be impressed if he was being phoned for something frivolous that could wait. 

Or if he was being phone by Courfeyrac.

He also would not be responsible for his actions if Courfeyrac dared to phone him after deliberately getting him drunk the night before. 

“Hello?” he grunted into the phone. 

“Marius!” speak of the devil and he shall appear, Marius thought angrily, restraining himself {barely} from muttering a curse. Not only was it Courfeyrac, it was Courfeyrac being as obnoxiously loud as he’d found his phone’s ringing to be earlier, if not more so. “Marius, buddy, how are you?” Moaning as his head throbbed painfully again, he wondered if he could hang up on Courfeyrac without facing repercussions or without Courfeyrac knowing. “Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

Or not. 

“How do you think I’m doing?” he muttered into phone, stumbling his way back to sit on his bed. He realized, albeit too late, that that was possibly the worst thing he could’ve asked Courfeyrac. 

“Wonderful considering its past noon: why, my dear fellow, you’ve almost slept the day away! Were it spring, the birds would be singing, the breeze would be blowing, the flowers would be blooming, the sun would be…”

“I get it. You’ve been spending too much time with Jehan.” His comment was met by chuckling that did _nothing_ to stop his head’s recently moved in percussion section. “What do you want?” 

“Marius, I am shocked! Why would you assume that I would phone you because I want something? Why, I’ve never…”

“Yes, yes, you’re offended. Fantastic. What do you want?” Marius asked, cutting him off. Rubbing his forehead with his free hand, he tiredly rubbed his eyes and wondering if he had any Advil. Probably not, knowing the luck that he was having at the moment. 

“I was just wondering how you are feeling this glorious morning. It’s a new day, it’s a new dawn…are you feeling good?” Marius shook his head. Why was he friends with Courfeyrac again? 

“No.”

“Ahhh, a little hungover are we?” Marius felt like throwing his phone at the smug face he knew the other was sporting even if he couldn’t see it. He could tell from the tone in his voice. That tone bothered him more right now than it ever had before. “Don’t worry, Marius, you’re not alone! I think all of us woke up this morning with a hangover. Why, I myself…” 

“You are being way too happy for someone that has a hangover.” He interrupted rudely. Which pulled another chuckle from Courfeyrac. 

“Fair enough.” Courfeyrac hesitated for a moment before obviously coming to a decision and continuing. “I was actually phoning to see if you remembered anything from the meeting last night.” Marius snorted. 

“Oh yeah, I remember.” Marius gave a vicious smirk even if he knew that Courfeyrac couldn’t see it. Pay back. He could almost hear the hope growing on the other side of the phone. He paused for a moment longer, letting the momentum of hope rise before brutally crushing it. “I remember right up until I got to the Musain, and then someone got me drinking and after that, everything goes fuzzy.” 

“Marius! You’re mean; I really thought you remembered.” Marius could almost see the pout that he knew was on Courfeyrac’s face and it caused his smirk to increase in size. “Stop smirking, it’s mean.” Marius couldn’t help but chuckle softly, before reality set in. If Courfeyrac was asking him what had happened the night before…

“I’m assuming that no one else remembers what happened last night either?” He asked dejectedly, realizing that if Courfeyrac was asking him, odds were nobody remembered. He hoped that at least one of them had remembered {maybe Combeferre?} something from the night before, because he really didn’t want to face Enjolras’ wrath. 

He doubted that anyone did.

“Everyone else is pretty fuzzy on the details too,” Courfeyrac admitted reluctantly, “though Combeferre is swearing that Enjolras showed up and, well, after that even he doesn’t know. I don’t remember Enj even showing up…”

“I’m afraid that you’re not alone in that Courf; I don’t remember any of that.” There was a long pause, during which Marius’ headache receded a bit, and both of them desperately tried to figure out a way not to tell Enjolras that no one had been listening to him—or rather they had probably been listening at the time, but they didn’t have any recollection of what had actually been said. 

“That doesn’t bode well for the next meeting, does it?” Marius continued, hesitant.

“No, I think it’ll be fine. I mean, its not like Enjorlas…did I mention that it was _Enjolras?_ It was just Enjolras holding _a meeting for the newest protest_. I think it’ll go smashingly, don’t you? And by smashingly, I think he’s going to kill us. ‘That doesn’t bode well for the next meeting,’” Courfeyrac mimicked, snorting. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds almost like we can walk out of this alright. Which is not going to happen…”

“Well shit. I hope no one said something stupid last night.” Chuckling softly he corrected himself. "No, I'm sure that no one said anything stupid last night."

Oh how wrong he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Enjolras and Julian for a bit more emotionality...

When Enjolras woke up for the first time, the sun was also already high in the sky. He was warm, content, and sure that that was the best nights sleep he’d had in a long time. Turning slightly, looking for an alarm clock, he didn’t see one and, shrugging slightly and deciding that he didn’t care much what time it was anyways, he snuggled back down into the bunch of blankets in the unfamiliar bed, falling back asleep. 

When he awoke again, he decided it was probably time to get up and figure things out, because this was definitely not the apartment that he shared with Combeferre. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he gave a small yawn, and wondered where he was. Sitting up in the bed, he looked around and that was enough to clear the fuzz of sleep from his brain. The night before came to him quickly and he immediately remembered the comments that had been hurtled at him.

_Marble. Cold. Uncaring. No friends or family._

He didn’t understand: weren’t these people his friends? What had he done wrong that they didn’t consider him their friends; what had he done that made them think that he was marble, cold and unbreakable? He was not made of marble; he was not some statue without feelings. He was a human, with human feelings, and a heart. A heart that could be broken and stepped on just as much as anyone else’s…

Apparently, that didn’t matter to them.

Because he was marble: he felt no pain.

Enjolras had been friends with the majority of these people for years. In that time had he not even once managed to prove to them that he was human, with human faults? Had he not showed them that he was capable of being not only of being cruel but also of being kind? Had Enjolras not proved to them that his friends were important to him?

Had he not once been the one that they could call on if they needed aid—had he not sat through Marius’ consistent ramblings about Cosette; studied with Combeferre and Courfeyrac {especially Courfeyrac} when they were having problems with course material; fought with Bahorel when he needed the extra hand or got into more trouble than he could safely manage; dragged Grantaire home when the man was too drunk to drag himself?

Had he not listened to the majority, if not all, of Jehan’s dreamy poems; Courfeyrac’s embarrassing stories; commented as kindly as truthfully as he could on Feuilly’s works; helped Éponine avoid her parents and care for her kid siblings?

Had he not consoled Joly when he was sure that he was dying of last week’s disease; smiled and joked with Bossuet; helped Cosette prepare for her audition when she had wanted an honest opinion; held his tongue even when was in a terrible mood if he could help it; spent time and put effort into each and every single one of them? Had he not done those things because they were his friends?  

Not one of those actions told these people, these people that he had considered his friends, that he cared for them and would always be there when they needed him? Or had he simply been convenient for them: someone that they could use but give nothing in return to?

Had he not given them pieces of his heart?

Had he not done so and then had them crushed and mutilated beyond recognition in return? 

Enjolras hadn’t realized that he was crying until he felt something wet hit his hand. He didn’t give his heart easily; his past had taught him the danger of loving people. He had had friends before that had done much the same to him: used him when convenient, and then mocked him for assuming they were friends. But he had thought that he had left those people in the past—thought that that was a part of the past.

_Well, not only the past_ his thoughts reminded him, _as have they not proved it again? Caring for people is dangerous; this has been proved time and time again. There is only one person you can trust other than yourself._

Julian.

He thanked whatever it was that had prompted him to think of coming to see Julian the night before. Enjolras knew that he could depend on Julian; if he had had any doubts, Julian had proved himself the night before. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if he had been alone.

He wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to stop himself from ending it all.

From checking out of life permanently.

Sighing, he closed his eyes hard, trying to make the tears stop with all of his willpower. Now was not the time for tears—they would not help him. What he needed was to get his head back above water, because he left like he was drowning. Drowning in emotions that he had tried not to let himself feel, because caring made you weak.

At least that’s what his father had always said.

Though the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that his father was wrong.

Nevertheless, he needed help—he could acknowledge that much. He wasn’t in a stable place right now and that wouldn’t be of any help to anyone, least of all himself. Calming, Enjolras knew that he had to talk to Julian, because if there was going to be anyone that understood, it was going to be Julian.

Speaking of Julian, Enjolras wondered where exactly it was that Julian was, because he wasn’t in the bed and he couldn’t remember him leaving either. Looking around, he yawned again and stretched. Julian would be around somewhere that much he knew, so he went about getting dressed and washed up. By the time that he had finished up and was heading back into the bedroom, the sight of Julian sitting on the bed, giving him a smile as soon as he caught sight of him and a cup of coffee in his hands, answered his question.

A cup of coffee that was giving off the most wonderful aroma.

“Why, good morning, sleepy head. I told you that you were tired!” Julian’s bright smile brought a smile to Enjolras’ face, and he sat down beside his brother and reached for the coffee. Laughing, Julian pulled away. “Your coffee’s downstairs ‘Toine; leave mine alone. Come on,” he continued, gesturing for them to get up and head down. Enjolras smiled wider.

“I don’t really know your place, Jul” causing him to chuckle a bit at the blush that spread over Julian’s face.

“Ehhh…whoops?” Julian said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head a little bit. “I’ll show you; follow me.” Lead back down the hall, down the stairs and through to the kitchen, Enjolras was a little surprised with how big Jul’s place was. “Something wrong, ‘Toine?”

“No, I’d just forgotten how big this place is. How is it again that you’re living here on a student budget?” Julian laughed lightly, gesturing for Enjolras to sit across from him at the kitchen table. Enjolras sat down and was immediately presented with a cup of coffee before Julian set about making breakfast.

“It’s not really my place, remember? Its Uncle Mark’s house in the city and he doesn’t mind me living here because he doesn’t really visit the city much anymore.” Enjolras nodded, taking a sip of the coffee that he had been given, and smiling a little bit more. Perfect. He watched as his brother made breakfast as they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“Now,” Julian said suddenly, turning to him and fixing him with a serious expression that made Enjolras wonder if they were going to jump right in to the reasons for his crying the night before and he tensed in preparation. “The real question of the hour” and Julian paused slightly, “tomatoes or no tomatoes?”

“…What?” 

“Your omelette; tomatoes or no tomatoes?”

Enjolras paused, looking at him for a moment before he blurted “are you serious?” Julian nodded his head solemnly, before both brothers broke out into peels of laughter.

The sound of laughter, and the light feeling, lasted throughout breakfast.

***

After breakfast, Julian talked him into watching a movie that Enjolras had never heard of before, “Weekend at Berine’s” or something of the sort, just for them to hang out and ‘chill’ a little bit {Julian’s words, not his}. So they watched the movie, and they laughed together and now the credits were rolling and their laughter had quieted into a silence that neither felt the need to fill.

Enjolras found himself once again on his brother’s couch, this time ready to talk. Julian was tucked into his side and was playing lightly with his hair, curling the ends into ringlets before letting it go. Enjolras was as relaxed as he was pretty sure that he was going to be considering what he had to get off of his chest. As Enjolras tried to gather the courage to bring up the subject, Julian hummed softly and turned to look at him.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Without hesitating, Enjolras nodded and he started talking. He told Julian everything: how alone he had felt when he had started University and he had started cutting to try and make himself feel better. How he knew that it was hardly a solution, but it was the only thing that helped until he had started to make friends and come back out of his shell. How he tried to avoid doing it, because he knew it was a dangerous habit to develop.

Enjolras talked about what he considered to be his life’s work: the work that Les Amis worked on and how much it meant to him. How he lived and breathed the cause but wondered if anyone else even cared. Talked about how he didn’t need to be told that what they were doing wasn’t enough; he realized that it wasn’t enough, but something was better than nothing, and what he was doing was making a difference, bit by bit.

How the people that he considered friends were often the first ones to mock him not only for his ideals, but also for his personal decisions. How they all called him the cruel one, but they were much better at it in his opinion than he could ever be. How being called Apollo was _not_ a compliment {at least he didn’t take it as such} no matter how many times they told him through snickers that it was one. How it hurt to have they mock him; tell him what he did and didn’t care about. How they didn’t seem to care if they hurt him and how much it hurt that they didn’t care.

Enjolras admitted that their comments were the worst of all, because each time they repeated them and threw them out there without a thought it just validated that that’s what they honestly thought about it—about him; that it wasn’t just a cruel joke, but the truth. He talked about how these thoughts kept spinning round in his head, and how they were pulling him under and he didn’t even know if he could do it anymore. How it might be too much for a man, because he was a man, damn it, not an ancient Greek god.

Enjolras had no idea how long he’d talked for, but finally, he ran out of things to say. Ran out of everything that had been pressing down on him, crushing him and instead, put them out in the open, getting them off of his chest. He had gone through a whole range of emotions as he did so, from all consuming, depressing sadness to extreme anger. He was exhausted, even after the wonderful sleep of the night before, from the emotional roller coaster journey that he’d taken Julian on.

And when it was done, Enjolras didn’t think he had ever felt lighter.

It was such a relief to have finally told _someone_ what was going through his head. Such a relief to not have to worry about being judged for being weak throughout, and instead it brought him such a peace as he calmed his breathing and leaned into Julian’s calming touch.

Through it all, Julian simply sat, tucked into his side and listened to him rant, his expression never giving anything away, and his hand was still playing gently with the curls of his hair.

“Do you feel a little bit better now?” Julian asked him softly, never stopping the movements that Enjolras knew he was doing for his comfort. He had never appreciated Julian’s ability to know when he was upset as much as he did right now. He nodded calmly. “Who’s the worst do you think?” Enjolras looked at his brother in confusion.

“What do you mean Jul?” Julian smiled at him softly.

“’Toine, you mentioned the majority of your friends directly: most of the names I’ve heard before. Who is it that hurts the most when they say those things?” Enjolras contemplated for a moment.

“I know that Courfeyrac doesn’t often mean for it to be mean, he just doesn’t know where to draw the line. Combeferre doesn’t often say those things and he tries to stop the others when they get too bad. Grantaire started the ‘Apollo’ thing and…Jul, I really don’t know how to take him. Sometimes, I feel like he’s being so earnest, and other times…other times it’s like he’s playing a game of “mock the most” against himself with me as the target. I just don’t get it—I don’t get him.” Enjolras hesitated, missing the look that crossed over Julian’s face.

Julian, in the mean time, was making a short mental list of people that he had to…talk to. He knew that Enjolras would never confront them himself, because he didn’t want them to think of him as weak, but Julian had no such hang-ups. He knew that the majority of them were not done out of cruelty, but the one name that he was waiting for was the one that he really needed to hear, and the one that his brother seemed the most reluctant to share.

And if he had to bet, he’d bet that this Grantaire liked his brother and didn’t know how to tell him.

“I guess,” Enjolras hesitated slightly, before making the decision to share with his brother what was on his mind. “I guess the worst is probably Marius. Maybe because I don’t really know him as well as most of the others and I don’t know if he mocks to mock or in jest. Maybe because he seems so shy when actually talking to me most of the time, but he doesn’t seem to mind mocking with the others; perhaps one of the loudest amongst the others? Maybe he resents that I expect so much…”

“Stop right there.” Julian interrupted him viciously. “No, no ‘Toine, you are _not_ taking the blame for their actions. They are the ones that made the comments and they had the chance to decide whether they wanted to your friends or not. It is not your fault they decided to be your friends. Let’s face it, ‘Toine, its not exactly a secret that you can be more than just a little obsessive, brother.”

Enjolras chuckled softly. “I guess you’re right. I just don’t get it.”

“Well, I can’t speak for them ‘Toine, but I think you need to take a week off and get your head back on straight. Then you can worry about saving the world. You’ll stay here for the week, we’ll continue to talk, and you’ll hold a meeting with your friends next Friday night, and I’ll come with you.”

“Why?”

“…Moral support, ‘Toine.” Enjolras missed the byplay in Julian’s tone, and the look in his eyes. “Besides, I think it’s about time that they learn of my existence anyways, don’t you?” Enjolras chuckled a bit and could feel his eyes drooping. Julian gave him a fond smile, uncurling himself from his side and getting up from his side. “Take a nap, I’ll wake you for dinner, okay?” Enjolras nodded, already close to falling asleep.

“Thanks Jul. I appreciate it.” Enjolras murmured as he fell asleep, curled up on the couch. Julian watched him for a moment, before grabbing a blanket and putting it over his brother softly.

“Anything for you ‘Toine. Anything.”

Because that’s what brothers’ were for. And the one time that Enjolras needed him instead of the other way around…

Julian didn’t want to let him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank everyone for the positive feedback that I've received. It's really been a motivation to continue writing, especially since I wasn't sure how it would be received as I haven't written in a couple of years. 
> 
> So...thank you so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Combeferre and Grantaire, with a touch of Marius followed by a hint of Julian and Enjolras.

Combeferre wasn’t panicking.

Really, he wasn’t.

He was just…concerned. Yes, that sounded rather accurate: he was concerned.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen of the apartment that he shared with Enjolras, he found himself rather concerned. It was nearing mid afternoon and he had yet to hear any kind of movement from Enjolras’ room nor had he seen Enjolras himself. Which was quite odd: Enjolras was never this quiet, even when he was upset, or busy. Enjolras was always so full of energy, so full of life. He was impossible to miss when he was around.

When he was thinking, he would often tap his fingers in the rhythm of a half forgotten song. When he was working, it was hard to miss the rapid taping as he typed, the disjointed humming as he tried to think of how to say what he wanted to say next. When he was writing for a speech, it wasn’t that odd for him to start practicing the speech to check the phrasing and to mark where he wanted to add pauses for emphasis.

When he wasn’t doing any of the above, he was watching the TV, usually in the living room, or listening to the radio or checking out things on the net. It was easiest to tell when he was upset: often he’d escape back to his room and turn on his music. Loud. It was harder _not_ to realize that he was upset about something.

But there was a larger piece of evidence than just the lack of noise.

The coffee machine was off.

Not just off because a fresh pot had been brewed and another didn’t need to be brewed. The machine was off and there was no fresh coffee from anytime today.

There was a lack of coffee.

Where there was coffee, there was Enjolras. Very rarely did one exist without the other, or at least that was one of Combeferre’s theories, as it was only on very rare occasions that Enjolras was somewhere for longer than a couple of minutes without coffee of some kind. Combeferre had not realized how much he took Enjolras’ coffee addiction for granted until he had taken a swing of what he had thought was this morning’s coffee and found instead yesterday’s swill.

How he hadn’t noticed when he had poured himself a cup was still a mystery to him, because looking at it now, it was a disgusting black tar like mixture that nobody could mistake for the good stuff. He had ended up spitting it up all over his shirt and the table, ending in having to change and clean up.

But that wasn’t what was important.

Combeferre had been waiting since he’d woken up to talk with Enjolras. He didn’t remember much of what had happened the night before, though he had a feeling that he was missing something that was more than a little important, and that gut feeling continued to grow and dread curled up with it in the base of his stomach. He knew that talking to Enjolras would clear up whatever problem it was and then everything would be back to normal and he could concentrate on his homework.

Instead, he continued to wait at the kitchen table while wondering what it was that was bothering him, and why Enjolras was being so quiet. Never before had Enjolras been this quiet, though he was hesitant to actually knock on his door, in case he was making up these concerns in his head.

Gathering his courage, Combeferre got up and headed for his friend’s room, knocking softly on the door, his concern overriding his desire not to bother Enjolras if he was busy. When no answer was forthcoming, he knocked again, harder this time, assuming that Enjolras hadn’t heard him. Nothing. Harder still, he knocked, the dread growing and desperation setting in.

Still nothing.

Tentatively calling out, he got no response and tried the doorknob. It turned easily, and he hesitantly opened the door peaking his head inside. What he saw inside raised his emotions from ‘concerned’ to ‘tentatively on the brink of panic’.

Enjolras wasn’t there.

_Enjolras wasn’t there_.

Enjolras hadn’t left this morning, he would’ve heard him leave—even hungover as he was, Combeferre slept lightly and would’ve heard him when he left. Besides, even if he had done something to anger Enjolras, Enjolras had a good heart and would’ve left him out a glass of water and some Advil for his hangover. The one time that they’d had a fight, Enjolras had still seen fit to make sure that he didn’t suffer too much from his decision to drink.

Which meant that Enjolras hadn’t made it home the night before. It wasn’t like Enjolras to stay out all night, and if he did, it was always at the Café working on one thing or another. But Enjolras had left before everyone else, that much he knew, though the details of the evening were fuzzy at best.

Something was telling him that he needed to find out exactly what had happened the evening before.

Calmly as he could manage, he made his way back to the kitchen and collapsed back into the chair that he had previously occupied. Suddenly, he realized that he could just call him. Chuckling to himself for not having thought of this already, he grabbed his cell and immediately scrolled to Enjolras in his contacts and called him. He needed to know for sure that Enjolras was okay, and this was probably the best way to check. Combeferre further calmed when he heard it ring.

That calm disappeared completely within moments.

Straight to voicemail.

Forget not panicking, he was done with not panicking.

Combeferre was panicking.

Not once since Combeferre had met Enjolras ever had the others’ phone ever been turned off, as Enjolras liked being easily in reach if he was needed. Enjolras was officially missing as far as Combeferre was concerned. He didn’t know what to do…this was so unlike Enjolras that he couldn’t imagine it being a decision of his own. Enjolras could be lying hurt somewhere, perhaps even on the brink of death, and he didn’t even know where to start.

Frantically, he scrambled to call every contact that he could think of that might have Enjolras with them or know where Enjolras might be. He called all of Les Amis first, hoping one of them had an idea, but not telling them that Enjolras was missing per say. Rather, just that he was looking for him and was hoping not to bother him by calling him directly unless he had to.

When none of that paid off, he began stretching out into the more obscure contacts that he could think of—passing friends in classes and the owner of the Café, just in case Enjolras had a project of some kind he was working on or had returned to the Café.

No one had heard anything.

Full-blown panic set in.

There was only one person left to contact, because he already knew that Enjolras wouldn’t be with him, but this was also the only person that might be able to tell him exactly what had happened the night before. He was the only one that had drunk no more than usual. As much as he didn’t want to worry Les Amis, he was running out of ideas and was desperate to know exactly where it was that Enjolras was.

Combeferre had to talk to Grantaire.

He hesitated for a moment, hoping that Grantaire was at least a little bit sober before phoning his number. Fidgeting, he hoped for the best, knowing that Courfeyrac wouldn’t have thought to ask Grantaire what had happened, because why would he? Grantaire was drunk as he always was, but no more so, and everyone assumed that he wouldn’t remember anything come morning. Personally, Combeferre severely doubted that.

And even if Grantaire didn’t remember everything, the man had an artists’ eye for detail and would probably remember more pieces than each of them combined.

It was three rings in when Grantaire finally picked up, calming Combeferre’s heart a little bit.

“’Allo?” The voice was gruff, making him wonder if perhaps he had been asleep when he had called, before discounting that that wasn’t really something important to know right now.

“Grantaire. I was wondering what you remember from our meeting last night.”

“Good afternoon to you as well ‘Ferre. Yes, I’m doing fine, thank you kindly for asking.” Grantaire started, mildly mockingly, though Combeferre knew that was simply his way. Grantaire continued. “No, darling Apollo has not seen fit to gift me with his presence…honestly, I’m almost as surprised that he is not back there with you upon Mt. Olympus as I am that you thought that he may be here with me. For I am but…”

“Good afternoon Grantaire. How are you doing? I’m glad you’re doing well. All due respect, I don’t have time for this right now.” Combeferre interrupted as kindly as he could. “I’m not looking for Enjolras, actually I am, but what I need from you is what happened at the meeting last night.” He paused and when no answer was immediately forthcoming, he tacked on “please” to the end of it.

“You haven’t found Enjy yet?” the concern in Grantaire’s voice was easy to hear, and Combeferre closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He didn’t want to snap at Grantaire, he knew how important Enjolras was to Grantaire.

“No, ‘Taire, I haven’t found him yet. Which is why I need to know what happened at last nights meeting.”

“Okay, okay. Last night…ummm, last night.” Combeferre could almost see the man running one of his hands through his hair as he tried to think of what exactly it was that had happened the night before. “’Feyrac and I got Marius drunk before Enjolras even got there…for fun, mainly. Enj came in and started the meeting even though by that time, I think we were all pretty drunk, not that Enj noticed…Enj finished up by saying that we had a meeting tonight?” Combeferre could hear the question in his tone.

“We have a meeting tonight?” he repeated in surprise. He’d drunk more than he thought if Enjolras had planned another meeting and he didn’t even remember that.

“We were supposed to…but then Marius approached Enj because he has a date with blondie and wanted the night off. You can imagine how well that went over with Enj, though he wasn’t actually as harsh on M as I thought he was going to be. Ummmm…I think Marius then said something, I don’t remember what…whatever it was, it was enough for Enj to give us the weekend off.”

“Enj would never have backed out on a meeting that he had planned, unless it was something major.” Combeferre was beginning to get even more concerned.

“I’m telling you what I remember, Fer. That’s what I remember. After that, Enj took off pretty quick and after that…well, we had a short talk about Enj giving us time off actually. I think you defended him when someone said that he never gives us any time off.” Suddenly, there was a pause followed by some swearing from the phone and Combeferre’s concern grew.

“What? What is it?”

“…I think Marius mocked Enj for not having any friends or family.” Grantaire murmured after a bit of hesitation.

“ _He said what?!?!_ ”

“Fer, I think we all laughed about it…then Enj took off.” Both were quiet after that. Combeferre hoped that they hadn’t said anything that stupid to him, but the feeling in his gut told him that they had done exactly that.

“Shit.”

“Fer…do you think maybe that’s why you can’t find Enj?” Grantaire sounded so hesitant, Combeferre could almost see the man worriedly worrying the edge of his shirt. Combeferre sighed and placed his head in his hands.

“Maybe, ’Taire. I’m going to keep trying.”

“Keep me updated?”

“Of course. Thank you ‘Taire.”

“Fer?” Combeferre had never heard Grantaire sound that hesitant and small before. “Do you think he knows that I don’t mean to mock or belittle him?” Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, making his glasses rid up a little. He really didn’t need to deal with the relations between Grantaire and Enjolras right now: he just wanted to find Enjolras, and apologize if he had gone along with the others’ stupidity.

“Honestly, I don’t know ‘Taire. That’s something that you need to talk to Enj about, not me.”

“I mean, I know that sometimes I can come across a bit harsh, but I’m not trying to hurt Enj. I would never hurt Enj! It’s in jest…I don’t hate him ‘Fer, and I don’t even know if he knows that or not.”

“’Taire, calm down. Next time you see Enj, ask to talk with him, I’m sure he’ll discuss it with you. Okay?”

“Okay. Let me know when you find him, yeah?”

“Absolutely. Bye ‘Taire.”

“Bye”.

Combeferre sighed and tried phoning Enjolras again. Straight to voicemail. Deciding to leave a voicemail, he hesitantly asked Enjolras to call him back when he got the message and apologized for anything that he might’ve said last night, as he didn’t remember. He hesitated before adding also that he was worried about him, and hoped to hear from him soon. Hanging up, he sighed and decided that he might as well start his homework, because there was nothing more that he could do right now.

With one more attempt to hear from his friend, he sighed when he got voicemail once again and started his homework, after sending out one last thought for his friend.

He hoped that Enjolras was okay, wherever he was.

***

Marius’ day was not getting any better.

After hanging up with Courfeyrac, he had showered up and eaten a small breakfast, as his stomach was protesting food, though his headache was finally receding. Shortly thereafter, he realized that all of his good clothes were dirty, prompting him to run to the nearest laundry, which was, of course, not open yet. He ended up going to three separate laundries, before he finally found one that was open.

It also charged him almost double the usual price. But that was forgotten, as he walked on the cloud that was the idea of having a date with Cosette. They didn’t have the time or the ability to go on dates often, so this was a rare treat for Marius. Between his own schoolwork, his job and his work with Les Amis and Cosettes’ schoolwork, volunteering and the time that she spent with her father, they simply didn’t see each other often.

Combeferre had phoned him, asking about whether he had seen or heard from Enjolras that morning, and he had promptly responded no, as he hadn’t, and frankly, he wasn’t going to phone him and receive his wrath. It was doubtless in his mind that Enjolras was simply holed up with a good book {or several, as was probably a bit more accurate} and hadn’t thought to wake Combeferre before he left, or hadn’t wanted to bother the man who was probably hungover.

Combeferre would find him in a couple hours, or Enjolras would be home in a couple of hours and everything would be fine. Besides, why was he thinking about Enjolras when he had a date to get ready for?

His clothes were perfectly pristine, though he should probably work a little bit more on his ironing, as he’d gone through 3 pairs of his dress pants before he was able to iron it well enough to look decent {the first ones he’d accidentally burnt a hole through when he had gotten distracted thinking about how soft he was sure Cosette’s hair was going to be}. After trying to tie his tie, he decided to go without a tie because he simply didn’t know how to tie a tie. Next was his hair.

When he tried to fix his hair, he realized that he was out of product, and pouting he had had to use something else that Cosette had bought for him. It didn’t work too well; in fact, it made his hair look stupid as it wouldn’t lie down, but instead was sticking out in all directions. So he had had to run out to the store to buy some of his product, as there was no way that he was going to go on a date with Cosette looking like a muppet.

It took him awhile, but he was finally looking presentable enough to go on his date. Floating around his apartment, he danced a little to himself. The day was finally looking up. It was almost time—almost dinner and he was just getting ready to go pick up Cosette when his phone rang.

Turns out, the day was not looking up.

As luck would have it, Cosette cancelled on Marius. Her father needed her for something or other; Marius wasn’t clear on the details. Frowning, he wondered if he could have Enjolras move the meeting to tonight instead of one the nights of the week, because that would definitely work better—maybe Cosette would be free during the week. Shrugging, he figured that perhaps Enjolras would let him off the hook for forgetting the details if he seemed eager enough to make it up to him by asking him for another meeting.

The phone rang 4 times before it was finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Enjolras! It’s so lucky that I caught you…I was wondering if you wanted to have a meeting tonight?” There was a pause on the other line before he received the opposite of the answer that he was expecting. Enjolras’ voice was harsh enough for Marius to flinch back a little bit even though they were only talking over the phone.

“Is this a joke?”

“Why would you think that? Look, Enjolras, I realize that we don’t know each other as well as you know some of the others, or as well as I know some of the others, but I’m asking in earnest.” Marius was annoyed, and the best way to deal with his annoyance was to get it out—it had been a terrible day and Enjolras’ reaction was not helping make it any better. When no response was immediate, he continued.

“Look, if you want to take some time off to do whatever it is that you do during your time off, you’re welcome to. For someone that seems to be so dedicated to the cause, you’re quick to dismiss the idea of working hard towards your goal.” Marius sneered. There was another pause.

“Marius…” Marius cut him off.

“You know what? Forget it, I don’t even know why I bothered to phone. Some friend you are.” He grumbled angrily. “So when’s the next meeting, oh fearless leader?” Marius almost snarled by the time that he was finished. “Tomorrow evening? Perhaps Monday morning during my class, because that would work the best for you?” he mocked. Enjolras tried again.

“Marius…” Again, he was cut off.

“So when it is, oh Apollo? Is that how I have to get your attention; invoke your godship? Isn’t that what Grantaire…” he got no further, he was cut off by a new voice.

“Your next meeting will be on Friday evening, regular time. Good night…” Marius blinked. That wasn’t Enjolras.

“Who is this, and where is Enjolras?”

“I am of no importance. Who are you?”

“ _I_ am Marius Pontmercy.” He huffed, angry that he’s been questioned and that Enjolras wasn’t answering him anymore. Deciding that whoever this was wasn’t important, that he just needed to talk to Enjolras. “Put Enjolras back on.”

“…I should’ve guessed that one, I would’ve gotten it right in one. Enjolras is otherwise occupied, and frankly, I’m surprised that he listened to your vitriol for as long as he did. Good night.”

“Put Enjolras back on _now_. We’re talking and I’m not quite done with him…”

“Oh, stop your pouting.” Marius was shocked that whoever this was could actually tell. It was enough to shock him into silence momentarily. “You are quite done speaking at him for the evening, you pompous fool. Enjolras has better things to do than listen to you. Good night Pontmercy.”

“But I’m not…” Marius whined, viciously getting himself cut off once again.

“ _Good. Night._ ”

Marius looked at the phone in surprise. Whoever that had been, had hung up on him. He hesitated for a moment, before he decided that if Enjolras’ phone was on, then Combeferre had probably already been in touch with him. He’d ask Combeferre on Monday if he could tell him who the other person was, because he had a feeling that they weren’t going to get along.

***

Julian sighed, turning Enjolras’ phone off and put it back on top of the bookshelf. He understood why his brother had wanted to check his phone, but seriously, what where the odds of getting called by Marius: out of everyone, it had to be Marius?

Enjolras was looking at him with something that he couldn’t decipher in his eyes, and Julian wondered what it was exactly that Enjolras was thinking. Calmly, he launched himself onto the couch beside his brother, placing a quick kiss to his check before lying down with his head in his brothers’ lap.

“Did you honestly just say that?” Julian looked up at his brother.

“Say what?” Enjolras laughed softly.

“You called Marius a pompous fool, Jul.”

“Did I?” Julian asked innocently.

“You did.” Enjolras confirmed, a smile in his voice matching the smile on his face. “Don’t even try the innocent act, Jul, I can tell. Why did you call him that?” Julian pouted at him, pulling out the puppy eyes. “Jul…” he said warningly. Julian pouted a little bit more. He should've known that that wouldn't work on his brother: Enjolras was the one that had taught him, of course he would be immune.

“Because he is one. I never say anything that’s not true.” Enjolras blinked, looking at his brother before laughing softly, ruffling his brother’s hair.

“You’re too much Jul.”

“I am who I am.” Enjolras continued to smile. That was his brother alright; never afraid to be himself.

“Never change, Jul.” Julian smiled up at his brother easily.

“Not a problem, ‘Toine.

Not a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a ridiculously fast update for me and not something that will happen often. 
> 
> However, I found myself with some time and a plot that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so this is the result. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank everyone for reading and for their feedback, I really appreciate it--this has been more support than I could've imagined. 
> 
> Thank you again!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting of Les Amis

Sunday brought with it a beautiful day, cold with just a hint of snow, swirling in the wind.

By the late afternoon, all of the Amis, with the exception of Enjolras, were heading to the Café. Some {Marius} with a lot of grumbling, some {the majority} with confusion, and some {Grantaire and Combeferre} with great amounts of concern and growing panic.

Combeferre was the first one there.

Which, really, was not that surprising considering he was the one that had phoned everyone else and requested the presence of all of Les Amis at the Café.

Okay, so perhaps he hadn’t requested.

Perhaps it had been more of a frantic and hurried “I don’t care what you’re doing right now, drop it and get your asses to the Café. Now”.

He had spoken directly to everyone except for Marius {who he had texted, not wanting to talk to him directly} and Bossuet {who had been with Joly}. He hadn’t wanted to concern them, really he didn’t, but after not being in contact with Enjolras for such a long period of time, his level of panic hadn’t lessened: rather it was now possibly at the highest notch.

He was worried for his friend, and hoping that he was alright, and furious with Marius for his stupid words, furious with Courfeyrac and Grantaire for encouraging such things with their stupid little comments, and furious with himself for not noticing that Enjolras was hurting enough that he’d completely disappear for a weekend, maybe longer, not bothering to tell anyone where he was going, what he was doing…

Each minute that passed that he didn’t hear from Enjolras, or from someone telling him something about Enjolras, was both a blessing and a curse. At least he hadn’t heard that he was in a hospital somewhere, broken and beaten. But at the same time, he didn’t know anything. So maybe Enj _was_ hurt: hurt so badly that he couldn’t call him, or so badly that they’d contacted his parents, or maybe he wasn’t even…

He stopped himself viciously. Combeferre knew that thinking about that was a great way to work himself into another panic attack. He’d already managed that a couple times over the course of the last two days as his imagination conjured up images of Enjolras in growing spots of despair. He needed to touch base with everyone else and make sure that no one had heard from him, because the only thing that was stopping him from completely panicking was the distant possibility that Enjolras had since talked with one of their friends, even in passing, and as he hadn’t really asked before demanding that they come to the Café…

So here he sat, in the back room of the Café, fidgeting as he waited less than patiently for the rest to show up.

He couldn’t quite figure out what to do to keep himself occupied while he was waiting. He found himself taping his fingers against the table or against his thighs, and tapping his foot quickly. Combeferre was near tears as he waited less than patiently. He had ordered a coffee, his first of the day, that hadn’t come yet and he was more than a little bit on edge. He continued to fidget, trying to keep his imagination from working against him. His thoughts, however, continued to be centred on Enjolras.

He really hadn’t noticed how much he depended on Enjolras until Enjolras disappeared completely. No one to drag him to bed when he got lost in his studies, no one to remind him what he had to prioritize, no one to talk to when he needed to just decompress a bit, no one to bounce ideas off of while he was working, no one to laugh and joke with as they ate dinner together, no one to vent to when he wanted to complain about one his teachers or classmates, no one to make coffee…he hadn’t realized that he had no idea how to even work the coffee machine until he had tried to the day before.

And possibly managed to kill the machine for good, but that wasn’t important.

What was important was that Combeferre missed Enjolras, and realized belatedly, that a lot of the things that made Enjolras such an important part of his life had been missing for a while now.

He couldn’t remember the last time they had just talked—the last time they had sat down and watched a movie together, or created a project just for fun that had them laughing more than they were serious or tried to cook something together. Actually, Combeferre thought sadly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Enjolras laugh or seen him fully smile—not the half quirk of his lips that meant that he was amused, but the full smile that reached his eyes and meant that he was content and at peace and happy.

He’d been losing Enjolras slowly and he hadn’t even realized it.

 _Some friend I am_ he thought to himself glumly. Combeferre wasn’t sure when he’d transitioned Enjolras in his head from being his friend—perhaps even his best friend—to being the marble leader, stone and untouchable, but he’d done it and now…now his friend was missing and he had no idea where he might be, who he might be with, or when he might be back.

Grantaire came in next, a couple of minutes later, and he was surprisingly sober. Eyes darting around the room, as soon as he seen Combeferre, he near threw himself at him, sitting heavily in the seat across from him and looking at him with pleading eyes that filled with tears when he was given a quick shake of the head.

Grantaire had been on edge since Combeferre had told him that Enjolras was missing the day before, and to not have heard from him yet had Grantaire concerned that they had pushed him too far. Enjolras might have a tough skin, but everyone had a breaking point and Grantaire could only hope that they hadn’t already crossed Enjolras’ one time too many.

“No word then ‘Fer?”

“No.” Combeferre answered shortly, before realizing that he had been short with him when Grantaire flinched back slightly. He shut his eyes and took a calming breath, before correcting himself. “I’m sorry, ‘Taire. No, I haven’t heard from him and I’m…I’m really worried ‘Taire.”

“Where could he be?” Grantaire fretted, looking to Combeferre, hoping that he at least had an idea of where he might be. Hesitating, he looked at Combeferre through his lashes and asked, “He wouldn’t have gone home would he?”

“No. Enj wouldn’t have gone home.” Combeferre said it with such certainty, and with a harsh quality Grantaire had never heard, and it made Grantaire surprised. Everyone knew that Enjolras and his parents didn’t get along {or at least, as far as Enjolras was concerned, they didn’t get along} but he’d not realized that the break was deep enough that Combeferre wouldn’t even consider that as a possibility.

“Are…are you sure he wouldn’t have…” Grantaire tried again, before Combeferre cut him off as gently as he could, noting that Grantaire was too upset right now to deal with any other reaction.

“No. There’s no way that Enj would’ve gone home.” Combeferre hesitated, before turning to Grantaire. “What I’m about to tell you, you can’t tell anyone, is that understood?” Grantaire’s eyes widened, mouth opening slightly in surprise before he nodded his head quickly, biting his bottom lip. “Enjolras would never go home. I...” Combeferre hesitated, before deciding that Grantaire deserved to know why he had immediately discounted his theory. Besides, the man worshipped Enjolras and wouldn’t tell anyone. “I don’t know a lot about Enjolras’ childhood, but I can tell you that it wasn’t a good one. His mother passed away when he was little. His father remarried to someone that didn’t like Enjolras, and I think she made it obvious that her focus was on his father and his father’s money and that she didn’t care for him at all. On top of that, he never…got along, I think is how he phrased it, with his father.”

“But…why?” Grantaire asked, confused. What breaks a family so completely that his Enj would never have gotten along with his father? His own family was by no means perfect, but despite it all, he knew that he was always and always would be accepted at home, no matter what. His father resented that he had decided to go through for art instead of something that would be more likely to get him a job at the end of the day…but they were still on fairly good terms.

“I have no idea. I told you,” Combeferre mumbled softly. “Enjolras isn’t exactly the most forthcoming about his childhood, his parents or his home life. I just know that whatever it was, it was enough to make them colder towards each other than anyone that I’d ever met. Enjolras wouldn’t have gone home by his will, and his father only…” Combeferre wrestled for the word.

“Summons?” Grantaire asked softly. Combeferre nodded grimly.

“His father only summons him around the holidays or big events, and its always weeks in advance, and most times, Enj throws the invitation away. We would’ve known a long time ago if he was supposed to be at home this weekend, and we probably would’ve heard from him several times already.”

“I didn’t even know that his Mom passed away when he was little…” Grantaire murmured softly. Combeferre sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes before putting his glasses back on and raking his hands through his hair.

“Enj doesn’t share often. Its simply not part of who he is. I only know because I had the… _pleasure_ of meeting his stepmother once. I’m pretty sure that no one else knows.” Combeferre said, causing Grantaire to nod slowly. Running out of words, they sat in awkward silence for a couple of moments.

The entrance of Courfeyrac, Jehan and Feuilly, all of whom looked confused, cut the silence. Seeing Combeferre, Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up and he immediately made his way over, his hands gesturing wildly as he began to talk.

“My dear fellow! Perhaps you’ll now share whatever it was that had you speaking ever so fast and demanding that we came down immediately. Why, I thought perchance someone was in danger with the speed of your babble. So what was it exactly that…” Courfeyrac was smiling widely, and Feuilly was laughing slightly. Only Jehan had immediately picked up on the tense feel of the room, and seeing Grantaire, he went immediately to Grantaire’s side, who was drastically pale.

“Enjolras is missing Courfeyrac.” Combeferre cut him off, standing up. There was a pause, before Courfeyrac burst into laughter, Feuilly following suite quickly.

“That’s a good one ‘Fer. So you called us down here for a practically joke and Enj if going to start a meeting as soon as everyone else goes through this? That’s a good one…it can’t have been Enj’s idea; since when does fearless leader have a sense of humour” he continued chuckling. What he was not expecting was the reaction.

Grantaire knew that, in part, on of the reasons that Enjolras had disappeared were comments exactly like the one that Courfeyrac had just shared. He knew that usually he prompted such comments, loving the reaction they could get. But now, with Enjolras missing, he was upset, he was concerned, and he knew that he and Enjolras needed to have a talk about his comments and Courfeyrac needed to grow up. Hearing Courfeyrac mock Enjolras again, while Enjolras wasn’t even there to defend himself or react was too much.

Grantaire lost it.

“It’s not a joke, you bastard!” Grantaire snarled, getting up and towering over Courfeyrac intimidating. “Enjolras is really missing: no one’s heard from him since the meeting. Nobodies heard from him since you and I got Marius ridiculously drunk and then pushed Marius until he approached Enj. Enjolras is missing, and its all our fault!” And with that, Grantaire burst into tears. Combeferre’s gentle hand on his arm was enough to bring him out of his anger. Pulling away from Courfeyrac, he sat himself back down into his chair heavily, and putting his head down into his arms, he started sobbing.

The mood shifted immediately. The smiles fell off Courfeyrac and Feuilly’s faces, and Courfeyrac paled drastically. Combeferre sighed, rubbed his eyes again and sat back down slumping against the table. Jehan didn’t even hesitate to wrap Grantaire into a hug, thinking that he definitely needed it. It took several attempts before Courfeyrac could speak.

“You’re serious? Christ, of course you’re serious…When was the…Do you have any…What did we do?” Courfeyrac babbled, getting flustered. He started worrying his hands together, worried.

“We pushed Marius into confronting Enjolras. He then said something about Enj not having any friends or family, and we all laughed, and to make a long story short, we’ve been complete and utter bastards to Enjolras for longer than I think any of us realized. ” Grantaire hiccupped glumly, trying to get his sobs under control. “Now he's missing, and no one knows where he might be, and nobodies heard from him and we don’t even know if he decided to disappear or if he’s hurt, and we would know if we weren’t assholes and make comments about Enjolras all the time. Its all our fault.” Grantaire wailed, gaining hysterics as he continued, before finally bursting into more sobs. If possible, Courfeyrac paled even more.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Feuilly’s voice was a bit of a surprise, and his whisper rang throughout the room as though he had shouted it. There was steel in that whisper, and Combeferre wondered for the first time if perhaps he wasn’t the only one that knew things about Enjolras’ home life. “Please tell me,” Feuilly continued, his voice getting louder, shaking with anger, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists “that you did _not_ prompt such a comment and that you did not laugh. Please tell me that you didn’t hurt the feelings of _one of our best friends_ for your entertainment. Please tell me that you did _not_ mock Enjolras for his family situation. Please. Enlighten me that Grantaire is wrong.”

Courfeyrac had no response for his friend’s words, each sentence hitting him like a blow, as he realized that it could very well be his fault that there friend was missing.

“I told you that you were taking it too far Courfeyrac,” Jehan said softly, not looking at anyone as he continued to rub Grantaire’s back softly, as Grantaire continued to cry. Courfeyrac swallowed hard, tears coming to his own eyes, before looking to Combeferre. He started hesitantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Feuilly cut him off viciously.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. Its what you said and how Enj took it, and so help me God, if Enjolras is hurt because of something that you said or if he has decided to cut _all of us off completely because of you and your comments_ , you better run, you better hide and you better hope and pray to everything that you consider holy that I can’t find you.” Feuilly threatened darkly, Courfeyrac pulling away in fear, the tears falling slowly down his cheeks.

Feuilly and Enjolras had been friends for almost as long as Combeferre and Enjolras. Enjolras was the one person that Feuilly knew that he could always count on for complete honesty, for help of any kind, for anything he could possibly need. Beyond that, Enjolras was the one that had pulled him  
out of his depressive cycle of achieving nothing and urged him to take his art back up again, helped him prepare a proper portfolio to get him into school and helped getting him his job to help pay for school. Feuilly owed Enjolras a lot, and he knew that he could never fully repay him, but Enjolras didn’t care.

There were so many things about Enjolras that Feuilly admired; so many qualities, so many strengths, so many opinions…Feuilly realized that he’d never told Enjy any of that, thinking that there would always be time later. If it turned out that there was no time later and that he lost his friend because of some stupid throwaway comment…

“Feuilly, we can’t only blame Grantaire, Marius and Courfeyrac. They might have instigated it, but we’ve all been laughing about comments like that for a while now, and we all laughed Friday night too. We’re all to blame.” Combeferre said softly. Feuilly froze and blanked as he considered what Combeferre had said. They were all to blame. He had hurt one of his best friends.

“Any idea as to where he might be hiding out? I owe him a big apology.” Feuilly continued stiffly, moving further away from Courfeyrac and Grantaire. He knew that it wasn’t really only their faults—they had all played a role in this, no matter how small, but at the moment, that didn’t make him feel any better.

“No.” Combeferre admitted softly. “I have no idea; that’s why I called everyone—I’m hoping that someone knows where he might be, or has heard from him since Friday.”

“And I think we all owe him an apology.” Courfeyrac admitted softly, eyes downcast as he played with the rim of his hat. Gathering his courage, he forced himself to look up. “We owe him a lot more than an apology. We’ve been cold and cruel, and Enjolras deserves a lot more than that. He’s always been there for us and…we’ve been _really_ stupid. I’ve been _really_ stupid. We need to…”

The entrance of Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel, all of whom were laughing and joking with each other, cut off Courfeyrac. The laughing and joking ebbed away quickly when they entered the almost silent room and heard Grantaire’s soft sobbing, noticed the tears in Courfeyrac’s eyes, seen the defeat in Combeferre’s posture and the stiffness in Feuilly’s.

“What’s wrong with Grantaire?” Joly said concerned, assuming that since his was the most extreme of the reactions, that there was something wrong with him. His own cold forgotten, he hurried himself over to Grantaire and started asking various questions while trying to check his temperature. “He’s sick isn’t he? Oh God, Combeferre, you should’ve told me he was sick! I heard that there was something going around…this could be deadly. If you had told me this was what the rush was a bout, I would’ve been more prepared. Has he got a fever; it feels like you might have a bit of a fever? What about a cough: I bet he’s got a cough; how bad is your cough? He’s so sick that he’s crying from the pain? Oh dear, there are so many options…tell me, R, when is the last time that you…” Joly was working himself into quite the state, sure that his friend was on the brink of death.

“Joly! He’s not sick.” Jehan interrupted softly, stroking Grantaire’s hair while the other man worked on calming down a little bit. The tears were still coming, but the sobs had started to subside a bit.

“Then what’s wrong?” Bahorel asked gruffly, immediately feeling his concern growing. Sickness was one thing: Joly could cure sickness. Tears were very rarely a good thing, especially when he wasn’t aware of what exactly was going on. His protective instincts were going into overdrive. Something was wrong, and for Grantaire to be crying and everyone to look concerned, it was something bad.

“Enjolras is missing.” Combeferre sighed from his place at the table. There was a moment of hesitation before panic set in as everyone noted that he was being completely serious. Everyone started talking at once, trying to figure out what was going on, turning to Combeferre for answers.

“What do you mean missing?” Bahorel asked, his concern rising.

“For how long?” Bossuet asked with a gap of surprise.

“Missing? How is Enjolras missing? I thought he was at the library! Is he sick?” Joly fretted.

Feuilly continued to stand stiffly, while Courfeyrac had started talking, explaining what he could to Bossuet while the other two interrogated Combeferre. It was to this flurry of activity that Marius walked in. He paused after walking in the door, taking in the escalating noise emitting from the room. Hesitating for only a moment, he decided to ask Jehan and Grantaire what exactly was going on, as Feuilly had gone from staring stiffly ahead, to giving him an angry glare that he didn’t quite understand.

“Hey Jehan, Grantaire. Um…what exactly is going on?”

“Enjolras is missing.” Grantaire murmured softly, his sobs finally under control. He took a deep breath and shakily continued “No one’s heard from his since the meeting.” Marius frowned, confused.

“I talked to him yesterday.” Grantaire froze, and Jehan looked at him wide eyed.

“You…you what?” Grantaire stuttered.

“I called him yesterday.” Marius said shrugging. They were both looking at him, waiting for something and he hesitantly swayed on his feet wondering what they were waiting for.

“What did he say? Why did you call him?” Jehan asked softly, his worry for Enjolras outweighing his disappointment in Marius.

“I wanted to know if we could have a meeting last night instead of some night this week, because Cosette cancelled our date and it worked the best for me. He asked if I was joking” Marius said, pouting “and then when I said that if wanted free time he was welcome to it, but he really shouldn’t pretend to be so devoted to the cause if he really wasn’t. Our next meeting is Friday by the way, regular time” Marius didn’t notice the way that Grantaire paled further if possible and his eyes lit with fury, while Jehan looked repeatedly between Grantaire and Marius, his concern growing. “After that, apparently he didn’t want to talk to me because someone else took over and then whoever it was hung up on me! Can you believe that? They hung up on _me_.”

“You talked to Enjolras?” Grantaire said it quietly, but it reached throughout the room, causing everyone to quiet down suddenly. A pin dropping would’ve sounded like thunder in the silent room. “You talked to Enjolras?” he repeated, louder this time. Jehan, knowing what was coming, grabbed Grantaire to stop him from launching himself at Marius. “ _YOU TALKED TO ENJOLRAS?”_ he roared. Marius took a step back, concerned at the fury he was reading on Grantaire’s face. “You talked to Enjolras and you dared to question his devotion to the cause?”

“Ummm…yes?” It was only then that he noticed all of the eyes on him, filled with ranging amounts of fury. “Why, did I do something wrong? Was there already a meeting last night?” Grantaire tried again to throw himself at Marius, but Jehan was stronger than he looked.

“Marius…” Combeferre started, trailing off as he was unsure how to continue. He didn’t have to worry about continuing; Feuilly took over.

“Friday you told him that you had a date and demanded that he not hold a meeting last night, before telling him that he had no family or friends. Then you phoned him and demanded that he have a meeting? I would’ve thought it was a joke too.” Feuilly snarled viciously. Marius pulled back in surprise.

“I don’t remember saying that out loud.” There was silence before Courfeyrac noticed his phrasing.

“What do you mean ‘out loud’?” He asked suspiciously. Marius shrugged.

“Well, I mean, lets face it. Enjolras is our ‘fearless leader’, he was probably born right from the head of the Gods, right R? Of course he has no family. If he had family, he wouldn’t be such a drag. And as for friends, he has us, but we’re not really friends with him…he’s just our leader. I mean, when do we really do ‘friend’ things with Enjolras? We don’t. Because he’s not our friend. He’s our leader, and he spends all of his free time here, which means that he doesn’t have any friends. See,” he continued, a little nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck “no family or friends.”

Silence reigned. Marius was being looked at in various amounts of shock, fury, sadness…Was that really what it looked like to an outsider of sorts—Marius had only been with them a couple of months, but did it really look like Enjolras was some untouchable being beyond them? Enjolras was there friend!

“Firstly,” Grantaire started dangerously “I call Enjolras Apollo, you utter twat, not Athena, and even then, you're not accurate! He did not burst from the head of…” Feuilly cut him off.

“Grantaire, this is not the time to educate him on his lack of knowledge.”

“Point.” Bossuet said softly.

“Right,” Grantaire said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck before regaining his momentum. “Secondly, Enjolras has friends—we are all his friends. _Les Amis_ , or did you not realize what we were called?” Combeferre continued from where Grantaire had left off.

“Enjolras is, and probably always will be, my best friend. We’ve all done him a great disservice, and your stupidity isn’t helping that matter.” Marius scoffed.

“You all say that your friends, but when’s the last time that Enjolras actually did something to help you out?”

“Friday,” Joly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Bahorel answered immediately. They looked at one another in mild amusement before coming to a silent agreement that Joly would start. Everyone turned to him, and he straitened, angrily looking directly at Marius.

“Enjolras helped me study all of Friday afternoon even though I know that there were other things that he had planned to do, because he knew that I needed the help. Enj has always been there when we need him.” They turned to Combeferre, who pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

“Friday morning, Enjolras made me breakfast because he knew that I wouldn’t eat if he didn’t, set my alarm for me so that I’d be up with enough time to prep for my class, reviewed the homework that I’d stayed up late the night before doing, and made a reminder for each of the three meetings that I had. That’s Enjolras for you, he’s always there whether I noticed it before or not.” Combeferre continued, Courfeyrac taking over immediately after he had finished.

“Enjolras proof read my essay, dragged me to class and saved my hat three times.” Grantaire snorted softly and everyone but Marius and Courfeyrac smirked a bit—Courfeyrac looked a little offended. “Hey! My hats are important to me.” He pouted. Chuckling, Bahorel continued.

“Enjolras dragged me to class too, then helped me prioritize my assignments and took me to the right section of the library for my essay. I’d probably have dropped out of school by now if it wasn’t for him” Bahorel admitted calmly. Marius flushed, realizing that his own argument was being used against him.

“Well…well…” he stuttered, before turning abruptly towards Combeferre. “If you’re all such good friends, then who’s he with and why is he so mean?” Everyone blinked. Marius smirked victoriously. “You don’t know. You say that he’s your friend and you don’t even know where he is or who he’s with.”

“We said that he had friends—that he was our friend, and that he is a good friend to us all. We didn’t say that we’ve been good friends in return and you exemplify that.” Jehan said softly, causing the mood to drop as they realized exactly what he was saying and how right he was. Marius hesitated before he tried again.

“He’s our leader though, not our friend. Remember guys, fearless leader, man of marble…”

“We don’t need to be reminded of how we’ve hurt him.” Courfeyrac said stiffly, furious that he hadn’t realized what they’d done—what _he’d_ done to Enjolras. He’d hurt him, probably really deeply, and he hadn’t even been aware. He was furious with himself.

“Whatever. I don’t want to argue with you guys.” He hesitated, before checking his phone and swooning. _A text from Cosette_ Grantaire thought bitterly. He was going to have a long discussion with Éponine and Cosette…

“Well…” Marius said giddily, looking up from his phone. “Now that we’ve discovered that Enjolras isn’t missing, can I go?” Taking their gaps for agreement, he smiled brightly “Fantastic. Night guys” and then he quickly back-pedalled out the door. Courfeyrac was the first to react.

“Did he seriously just…” he started, still at loss for words. The others nodded and Bahorel frowned darkly.

“Apparently, he did.” Courfeyrac threw himself into the chair between Combeferre and Grantaire, banging his head off the table a couple of times before straightening.

“Why did no one tell me that I had recruited such a complete and utter asshole?” he moaned.

“I don’t think any of us knew that that’s how Marius felt” Joly consoled softly.

“Gentlemen.” Jehan said softly, and everyone turned to look at him. “Marius aside,”

“Aside is right,” Feuilly murmured darkly. “We’ll deal with him later.” Grantaire made a noise of agreement and their eyes met. Revenge on Enjolras behalf would be theirs.

“Marius aside,” Jehan started again, stressing what he’d already said, “we have our next meeting Friday night. I’m assuming that Enjolras is hurt emotionally but safe. Odds are, no one is going to see him until Friday. Agreed?” Everyone agreed, nodding. “That means that we have until Friday to show Enjolras that we care about him, about his cause and to prove to him that we’re sorry. Like it or not,” and he met everyone’s eyes individually, “we are all on Enjolras' metaphorical shit list right now and we all owe him major apologies. All. Of. Us.” He stressed when he seen Bossuet and Joly go to say something. “Gentlemen,” he continued, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers together, “we owe Enjolras a lot more than any of us can ever repay. What are we going to do to show him what he means to us?”

When no answer was forthcoming, Jehan started smiling. It was a scary smile—the smile one could imagine a shark having shortly before it ate you. “I have a plan and each of you has a role. This plan will not fail. Each of you will _make_ the time to do your part. Because Enjolras means the world to all of us and we have to show him, or we’ll loose him forever. Understood?”

They all nodded rapidly, ready to do whatever they could to get Enjolras back and to show how sorry they were. Jehan’s smile became even wider if possible. A shiver went through the group.

There was a reason that Jehan was feared.

And it wasn’t that he would bore you to death his poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who has been so very supportive and loving of this work: I appreciate all of the feels and feedback that I've gotten and I hope everyone continues to enjoy it.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but it won't be often that I can update quickly. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of everyone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to thank everyone for their love and support.
> 
> Second, I'd like to apologize for the ridiculously long wait, but between term beginning to wrap up and the long weekend spent at home, I've had less time than I'd thought that I'd have, so this is, unfortunately, the soonest that I could put up an actual chapter and I didn't feel like short-changing anyone and thought waiting was better. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience! Hopefully you'll never have to wait this long for an update again. 
> 
> Also of note, I'm going to do a final edit for this chapter this weekend when I have a bit more time, but I thought that you'd all waited long enough, my lovelies. 
> 
> Have a lovely week and weekend!

Friday came at the end of what felt like a long week. It had snowed for several days, though it had not been quite cold enough to truly accumulate much snow. Everyone had been busy throughout the week, and the rate of success varied amongst them.

***

Enjolras had had a wonderful week.

In fact, it was the best week that he could remember having had in a long time. He hadn’t left Julian’s house for anything as Julian had refused to let him go to any of his classes, procuring a copy of all of his notes from…somewhere {he had asked where and Julian had simply given him a smirk that had lasted for over an hour, and he dared not ask again}. The backyard was large enough to enjoy a short walk to enjoy the fresh air, but beyond that, Enjolras had basically been under house arrest.

Not that he minded at all. It was nice not having to worry about a thousand things and being the only one that was worried about nine hundred and ninety nine of those things. Working from the notes and from copies of notes he had already taken, Enjolras had managed to stay on top of all of his schoolwork and was actually a little bit ahead.

On top of that, Julian had actually been quite helpful with organizing for the next protest. He wasn’t too surprised; rather he had never asked him, nor thought to ask him, for help before and was surprised at the ease with which Julian took to planning. It was going to make for an interesting meeting later that evening, when he met up with the rest of Les Amis again. Frowning, he assumed that the lot of them had probably done very little—which was fine. Enjolras had come to terms with the fact that the rest of his…friends…had very little passion for the things that were important to him, and he supposed he should be happy they pretended as long as they had.

Not that Julian agreed with that. Enjolras smiled softly; he was pretty sure that Julian had come close to smacking him several times over the course of the week, for his “self-deprecating attitude” as Julian put it. He was marginally surprised that Julian hadn’t hit him to be honest, though when they had first talked about why he didn’t think that his friends were really friends, Julian had let him say his piece before excusing himself and disappearing for a couple of hours. When he had come back, he looked like he had been crying and he had made a fairly long bullet list of reasons that he was full of shit for believing that he wasn’t worth friends.

He was thankful for more than one reason that Julian was on his side and not against him. Emotions weren’t something they had really talked about growing up, but that didn’t seem to matter to Julian, who pushed and pulled when he felt like it was necessary or simply sat there quietly, waiting for him to be ready to talk. It had been great talking with Julian and with talking to Julian had come mildly stunning realizations.

He had had quite a few of these revelations as they talked about himself and about his friends actually. Enjolras now had entire lists of things that he’d never contemplated on before that, looking back, he probably should’ve—it would’ve avoided the whole ‘emotional breakdown’ thing, though, as Julian kept saying, “a break was coming, its better now and here then later alone”. There were a lot of things that he wanted to change, a lot of things that _had_ to change and a lot of things that he was contented with.  If he was honest with himself though, it was mainly things that had to be changed that were swirling round in his thoughts.

Things like Marius.

Marius had to go. Okay, so maybe not go {though he had privately entertained a couple of situations involving him throwing Marius out of the window at the café, though he knew that they were only hypothetical and that he’d never actually do it}. Rather, Marius had to get an attitude adjustment. That or the next time that he started on about something that he couldn’t even begin to understand, like the whole ‘made of marble’ thing, Enjolras was going to punch him. Hard.

Marius didn’t seem to understand what was going on half the time, both with his schoolwork and with the world at large, and that was simply not acceptable anymore. If he wanted to spend so much time with Cosette that was fine with Enjolras, he was more than happy that Marius was happy. He did not, however, want to hear about it continuously nor did Marius have to show up and distract them all during the meetings.

It was the during the meetings part that bothered him the most. If Marius could just shut his mouth when they were supposed to be meeting for the Revolution and supposed to be talking about protests, causes and solutions, then everything would be fine. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that that wasn’t possible for Marius so he knew that he was most likely going to have to ask him leave. This would continue no longer.

The other major revelation that he came to was that perhaps he was asking too much of his friends—it was possible that he planned a few too many meetings and expected them to all drop everything to work on the Revolution. That wasn’t fair of him, especially when he didn’t even know if they wanted this as badly as he did. Just because it was his cause, his concern and his primary passion didn’t make it everyone else’s as well.

Though he hadn’t mentioned it to Julian, he was half ready to disband Les Amis if no one else was interested in helping him. He couldn’t run this Revolution all by himself, no matter what anyone else though, and he couldn’t run it with Julian alone either. He needed more people than that—more support than that, and that’s where Les Amis had come in. But if they were no longer interested, he was not going to force them to be involved either.

Tonight was going to be a marker in several ways—tonight would be the tipping point. He didn’t know how many friends he was going to walk away with at the end of the night, and frankly, he didn’t care. He had to stop thinking of the whole and think only about himself just this once.

Just this once, he was important enough to be the focus, and after tonight, he would know how many of his friends were really his friends and how many of them were simply there for their own entertainment or seen him as a convenient helper every once in a while. He would know soon—soon the meeting would start and with it, the beginning of a new chapter, not only for him but for all of them.

And for the Revolution, because it was still important to him and always would be.

***

Julian’s week had been equally wonderful.

Not only had he taken a break from school {it was always nice to have a little break}, he had also gotten the chance to reconnect with his brother in a way that they hadn’t done in years and had managed to help talk Enjolras through the majority of what had bothered him enough to have him show up on his doorstep without notice. All in all, Enjolras was in a much better headspace at the moment and Julian was determined to do everything in his power to have him remain there.

Including extracting revenge.

Not that he could do it all alone.

His brother was friends with some really lovely people.

At least they were lovely once they got their heads out of their asses.

Enjolras and Julian had agreed that a week off meant an actual week off, which meant no phone either. Enjolras hadn’t originally been overly happy about that, but Julian had simply reminded him that the world would be able to survive the week without him and if the apocalypse struck before the week’s end, Enjolras could have his phone back. That had pulled a small smile from his overly stubborn brother, not that that made him stop arguing for permission to use his phone.

Eventually, they had come to the agreement that Julian would check his phone once a day to make sure that the apocalypse was still waiting until after his week off to strike, and if there was anything important that he had to respond to, like the few concerned teachers emails at the very beginning of the week, then Enjolras would respond accordingly, but everything else was left alone. It was while checking his brothers’ texts and emails that he had come across the text from Jehan. It had been a simple enough message, but it had spoken to him for some reason.

Perhaps it was because he could almost sense the emotion that went with it, or perhaps because there weren’t several joking messages before it asking him to come out from his temple {Marius’ position at the top of his revenge list was solidified with those texts} or something equally as inane, but simply the one, concerned message asking for confirmation that he was alive at the least and on his way to getting better if not already better. There was no pressure to respond, but it would be appreciated.

Julian had hesitated only for a moment before deciding to respond, that yes, Enjolras was alive, not this was not Enjolras writing this, and Enjolras was working on it. The response had been almost instantaneous thanking him for the reassurance and asking if there was anything he could do to help. Jehan still didn’t know who exactly he was, he just knew that Enjolras was staying with him and that they had the mutual interest of proving to Enjolras how important he was and reaffirming that he had friends.

Not that things had quite gotten on that well that quickly.

First, Julian had torn a strip off of Jehan for being so perceptive as to miss Enjolras’ feelings, and for not stepping in before this point to try and help him. Jehan had hesitated before saying that he had tried, which Julian had responded obviously hadn’t tried hard enough before berating the other for not being much of a friend. Jehan didn’t have much of an answer for that beyond admitting that he had a plan to help Enjolras realize that they were all his friends that that they cared.

Julian hadn’t forgiven him yet, and Jehan knew it, but at he had at least stopped taking shots at the other at every opportunity, as he knew that there were others who had greater faults than Jehan and he was, most likely, going to need Jehan’s help to whip the others into shape as they didn’t know Julian and would probably not listen to him.

So together they plotted. Together, they fine-tuned an already mainly solid plan to prove to Enjolras that they all cared for him and that he was important. The majority of their free time had been spent planning together via internet chat, until they were almost 100% sure that their plan wasn’t only fool-proof, but would be both implemented and completed in time for the meeting on Friday. They worked fairly well together, all things considered.

It was also Jehan that put him into contact with Feuilly, saying simply that there was other revenge being planned that he may like to be a part of. At first, Feuilly hadn’t been sure who he was and had been a little insecure in the fact that Julian was less than forthcoming about who exactly he was in correlation with Enjolras, but they had bonded over a mutual desire to extract revenge upon Marius for his stupidity.

This plot was perhaps a little crueller, but Julian refused to let Marius get away with breaking his brother down bit by bit for the last year-odd, and he decided that it was well deserved and not as cruel as it could be. It was relatively tame, actually, in comparison to some of the private thoughts that he had had that he didn’t dare put on paper {he had no desire to be arrested, thank you very much}.

Feuilly was working with another, Grantaire, who Julian had heard of from Enjolras and he was happy that he was helping while also being a little surprised that he was planning revenge when he himself also mocked his brother. It was late Wednesday evening, or perhaps early morning Thursday…he wasn’t sure, that Grantaire and Julian had had a small heart to heart that had ended in Julian, albeit a tad reluctantly, forgiving him in part for his actions.

Tonight was the night—the start of a new era. Tonight, without Marius there to screw anything up {hopefully, he would get the message from the numerous things that had happened throughout the week and leave all of them alone for the rest of eternity, or get a major attitude adjustment} Les Amis would prove to Enjolras that he was their friend, that he was _worthy_ of being their friends {or rather, as Julian liked to think of it, that they were worthy of being his friends} and that they also cared about the cause and were willing to put work towards it even without Enjolras there as their guide {though not to say that they could do it without him, of course}.

Tonight was the night of change, and Julian, with a feral grin, was more than ready to separate the good from the bad and to make sure that if he was going to give his brother back to these people, that he was in a good headspace and would remain there, no ‘if’, ‘and’ or ‘buts’. And if there were any, Julian would take care of it.

Because this was his brother and Enjolras meant the world to him.

Anybody that didn’t realize that, would know better soon.

***

All in all, Jehan’s week had been mediocre.

School had, luckily, not been overly busy, though there was a guest lecturer who had taken over two of his classes for the entirety of the week that basically thought in the exact opposite sense to him, which had been more than bit annoying to deal with, as it seemed everything that he had interpreted was simply ‘wrong’.

It was poetry.

Half the fun of poetry was that different people get different interpretations of what they’re reading because they bring their own thoughts and experiences to the table when they sit down to read. There should be no ‘set’ interpretation. But alas, apparently M. Dubois disagreed with him and it had made for a long week. He was glad to see him gone.

Also, there had been a lot of planning to make sure that Enjolras was aware of their friendship and devotion {he didn’t really like to call it Revenge planning, it was more like anti-revenge planning or some other equally as confusing moniker, so he was sticking with calling it Plan Enjolras} and he was finding it a lot more work than he had expected. Mainly because it was only during this planning that he truly realized how much emotional damage they had wrought upon Enjolras and it had taken a slightly larger plan than he had originally anticipated to really prove to him that they cared for him.

He knew that it would be worth it, though and revelled in the work.

The saving grace of the week was that no one argued with him by any means of the imagination, with the single exception of Julian {who he was to Enjolras, he still didn’t know, but he knew enough about the other not to ask directly either}. Everyone else had done exactly as he had told them, most asking if there was anything else they could do to help. It had really been lovely for them to all rally so close together as they had—it made Jehan more assured that he had right to take control the way that he had, as it definitely pushed the outside chill away as they all worked diligently for Enjolras.

It warmed his heart, and if he had a bit more time, he would’ve written a poem about it. But he had not had time, nor had a poem come to him while he contemplated this phenomena, so he had been forced to mourn the loss of potential and return to what he was working on.

By Thursday, he was concerned that perhaps it would only his part that wasn’t and wouldn’t be completed on time. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he tried to write it, the words simply wouldn’t come. Surrounded by mounds of crumpled up attempts to share the depth of their care, devotion and love for Enjolras with him on paper, Jehan felt like crying. Poetry—writing in general! —was his craft; the one thing that he could always count on when he needed it, and it seemed that now that he needed it the most, was the sole time it decided to desert him.

He needed to write this—this was his contribution, this was the one things that Enjolras would know for sure was from him, the one thing that defined Jehan. He was not an artist like Feuilly or Grantaire, nor was he a thinker on the plane of Combeferre. He was not a doctor, nor a lawyer, nor was he a builder—he was a poet and it didn’t seem to matter that they all felt a depth of emotion quite suited to poetry for Enjolras, the words simply refused to come.

Jehan was desperate to immortalize this for Enjolras, so that any time that he felt bad, all he had to do was to look upon the paper and see how they felt exactly, and yet…and yet, he’d write a stanza, perhaps two and then get stuck. This was not like him—he very seldom was stuck with writers block, because the world was so full of beauty that he…

The world was full of beauty.

The world _is_ full of beauty.

He had been looking at this in the wrong way, he realized as the words came to him fast and furious. He was trying to write not based on the true inspiration, not based on the emotions, but on swirling thoughts. When you start with a sentence or a thought that can’t possibly go anywhere, was it any surprise that he couldn’t make it work? Of course it wasn’t, he scoffed, as he quickly filled up the page.

10 minutes later, Jehan couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t necessarily his normal work, nor was it necessarily his magnus opus, but it was there, on paper: everything that they felt for Enjolras. It was poetry, it was _his_ poetry, not some store bought thought and it was personal. It could use a couple of tweaks, he mused as he looked back at it, but in general, it was what he had spent the last 3 days attempting to write and now—now it was written and it would be ready for Enjolras, just as everyone else’s part would be.

For they all had a part to play, and tomorrow night would be the judgement day. Tomorrow he would be aware of if they had planned in vain—if they had hurt their friend too much, or if they would finally be able to prove to him how much he meant to him and hopefully, solidify their friendship. He was ready.

One more day and then he’d know where he stood with Enjolras.

One more day.

***

Feuilly’s week had been one part terrible and two parts splendid.

The terrible part was the soul searching that had come with the revelation that Enjolras had disappeared on them because the lot of them were idiots {or at least, that’s the conclusion that he had come to}. They were idiots who didn’t realize how much they needed Enjolras until he had disappeared on them, and he knew that he wasn’t the only one that had come to this conclusion. Enjolras meant a lot to him—without him, his life would be so very different, and yet he hadn’t thought to stop the others from their mocking.

Hadn’t thought.

That seemed to underline the problem itself. He hadn’t thought. He’d fallen into the same beliefs as the others—made of marble and the rest of that, and he hadn’t thought of how Enjolras would feel about those nicknames and taunts thrown at him. He of all people should know what it felt like, and he knew that Enjolras did as well. They had talked about it in the past, when he had still been looking for a reason not to go to school; he had spoken of the taunts and jeers that he used to get for the poverty shown through his clothes.

Enjolras had admitted to him that his own junior years were not much better—how he had been mocked for his money {apparently, it was almost as bad to be rich as it was to be poor}, for not having any friends, for being as smart as he was, for his feminine looks…Enjolras, Feuilly thought with a sad sigh, was no stranger to mockery. And still he had done nothing to help him—hadn’t even thought to try. It was weighing heavily on him, and he would spend the rest of his life apologizing to Enjolras if that’s what it took to regain the friendship they had once shared.

Two parts splendid had been the rest of the week. School had been easy enough, and it had allowed him the time to concentrate on Enjolras. He had even heard from Enjolras…alright, so he hadn’t heard directly from Enjolras. He had heard from the person that Enjolras was staying with though, Julian, and he said that Enjolras was alive and working on getting better, which was about a thousand times better than ‘dead in a ditch somewhere’ which had been his primary concern. It was also Julian that had been working with him and Grantaire to complete the revenge against Marius. Whoever he was, he had wonderful ideas that they had immediately but into effect.

Marius wouldn’t know what hit him. Between the three of them, he was getting quite masterfully dealt with, though he had to say that Grantaire’s revenge had, quite possibly, been the most pertinent and it had been enough for both him and Julian to cringe a little bit. It was cruel, it was spiteful, it would hurt and it was _so_ very fitting that neither he nor Julian could actually bring themselves to stop him. He wondered if it would have any effect on Marius’ personality…

The other splendid part had been his part in Jehan’s plan: Plan Enjolras. He wasn’t sure that he liked the name, but it was Jehan’s plan and he wasn’t about to tell him to change it. Besides, its not like it really mattered that much, if he was honest with himself, the fact was that they were going to prove that Enjolras was their friend and this plan was, it appeared, the best way to do it. It also kept him from having to deal directly with Courfeyrac, who he was still a little angry with, though he knew it was hardly completely his fault.

Still, Courfeyrac was the first to jump on the ‘mock Enjolras’ wagon and he _had_ brought Marius into their group so perhaps it was really his fault…He knew that Courfeyrac was helping with the plan and that he felt terrible, but he simply couldn’t forgive him just yet. Mind, he mused, it’s a little hard to forgive someone else for making the same mistakes as yourself when you haven’t quite forgiven yourself yet. When Enjolras delivered the verdict, that would probably define whether he forgave Courfeyrac or not.

Avoiding Courfeyrac was, at the moment, the best way to handle it without saying things…or rather, more things, because he’d already done the whole ‘threat’ thing, that didn’t have to said nor did Courfeyrac have to hear them. Grantaire and he had already had words—Grantaire knew that they were not totally in the clear, but they’d talked enough to clear the air between them. Besides, they’d bonded over getting revenge on Marius and he knew that he was likely to forgive Grantaire even if Enjolras didn’t forgive them.

He hoped that Enjolras forgave them.

Back to the plan: his fans were looking quite lovely if he did say so himself. It was something that he did on the side to help make a little bit more money, and it was something that he’d never shown Enjolras. Feuilly was no longer willing to hide behind the others though—he was going to give him a set to do with as he wished, but at least then it could hardly be said that he hadn’t shown Enjolras. He hoped that his friend appreciated them—he had enjoyed making them for him.

They had also done a couple of things for the Revolution while they were at it: he had managed to track down a couple of contacts that he had mentioned in passing that Enjolras had been interested in and got all of their information ready in a nice little press release packet-thing {Combeferre had been more than willing to help him out, because he’d never done that before and it had been more than just a little confusing to set up}. He had also helped Grantaire out with a couple of posters for the Revolution.

Tonight he would know if he had worked hard enough for forgiveness, or if he still had work left to do. Tonight was the night that defined what he had to continue to work on for the next bit of time. Tonight he would know.

He could only hope that he had done enough.

***

Grantaire’s week went well enough.

Grantaire had been in contact with everyone of Les Amis, and had been immensely relieved when Jehan had heard from Julian, who Enjolras was staying with, that Enjolras was alive and working on feeling better. That concerned him a bit. Enjolras was not the kind of person that cracked and broke; he was always strong, tall, proud and did not bend nor break with the wind. He was a very special kind of person and hearing someone say that he was ‘working’ on feeling better was a concern.

He knew that in part, this entire mess was his fault. In part, he couldn’t help it—he honestly idolized Enjolras. The man was too passionate to truly be of this world, the curls in his hair and the curve to his lips giving him an ethereal look that made Grantaire think that the other was honestly a Greek God—a statue come to life. He didn’t mean it in the way that he was now sure that it had been taken; Enjolras’ fire was too bright for him to be emotionless and anyone that thought so, didn’t know Enjolras at all. Enjolras was Grantaire’s beacon in so many ways and he had never had the bravery to approach him about how he had truly changed his life.

Enjolras didn’t know that he was the one that had persuaded Grantaire to go to school for art instead of for business. He had been talking at the café, years ago—before Enjolras had even officially moved to the city and started University. He had come to the city as part of a trip because of his honour roll status, or something along those lines, and had ended up, somehow, at the café speaking. For the life of him, Grantaire could not remember what Enjolras had been talking about, but he had talked.

And Grantaire had listened. At the time he had been preparing to follow in his father’s footsteps and go into business instead of doing what he was passionate about, and hearing this person talk, this God without a name… he could hear the passion spilling from his very being, swirling around and touching each and everyone of them. Passion that he had never known poured from his very being, filling the room until everyone was listening to him, no matter their own personal creed. He doubted very much that any of them could remember what had been said or even what Enjolras had been talking about in the general sense, but he knew without a doubt that not one of them had forgotten the passionate boy that had talked at the café.

Never before had he felt as inspired as he had been at that moment, and he knew that he had known that he needed passion like this in his life.

Grantaire was a cynic by nature, he could not help it, but hearing Enjolras speak had made him believe that perhaps there was still good in people and that maybe, just maybe, it was actually possible to change things if you worked hard enough. Enjolras’ very presence had changed Grantaire in ways that he hadn’t even known it was possible to change. When Enjolras had asked, as he finished, if there were any questions, necessary clarifications or opinions, he had stayed quiet, but after, when Enjolras had been leaving, he had approached and asked if he had any uses for a business major.

Enjolras had paused for a moment, obviously trying to figure out the answer, his forehead crinkling slightly as he though. Then Enjolras’ head had tilted, looked up and almost like he was looking through to his very soul, and he had asked why. Grantaire had ended up admitting that his father preferred him to take business and not art, which was his passion.

Enjolras had looked at him, truly looked at him and after a moment or so, he smiled softly, his eyes once again lighting up with that fire of passion, that never truly seemed to lay dormant but sometimes became a little less bright. Then, gently, with only the slightest of hesitation, he had placed a hand on his shoulder before saying that he should live for himself and not for his father, and if art was his passion, he had as many uses for an artist as he did for a businessman. It had rocked Grantaire’s world—this was the first time that someone had told him to do what he wanted with his life, as he usually heard people say that he was better off with a business degree anyways.

So he decided to do exactly that. He took a year off, considered all of his options, tried his hand at street art, grew out his hair, and decided that he’d rather be happy then please his father for the rest of his life. So he applied, and got in, for art. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the same man the next time that he seen Enjolras—in fact, he was very much changed. He was still a cynic, still an artist, but now, he was also a drunk. A drunk whose concern was the drink and not the cause; a drunk who lacked the very passion that made Enjolras, well, Enjolras; a drunk who didn’t seem overly capable of being of use.

For a long time, he had blamed the drink for the distance between him and Enjolras, but as he contemplated it, as he honestly contemplated it, it was not the drink. If it were only the drink that separated their two worlds, Enjolras would’ve thrown him out a long time ago and have been done with it. It was Grantaire himself that was the problem—he always kept Enjolras at arms reach, and then was surprised that the other didn’t understand that he didn’t mean to mock—that more often then not he was sharing his honest feelings. He couldn’t have it both ways, and he knew that that meant that he needed to have a long talk with Enjolras when Enjolras got back.

He was, for the first time, fine with that. It was time to put the cards on the table and let him know exactly what Enjolras meant to him. Perhaps not in front of all of Les Amis, unless that was the only way that Enjolras would talk with him, but just the two of them…

Besides, he hadn’t touched a drink since the last meeting. He couldn’t, because if Enjolras did need him, he was going to need him to be sober, not drunk. Which meant no drinking. It was a little harder than he thought it would be, reflecting that perhaps he was more than just an occasional drinker but actually a drunk as he’d been told a couple of times by various people. So he replaced one addiction with another.

He painted.

Grantaire loved to paint, but he hadn’t painted a lot this term, mainly because he had been lacking inspiration and he hadn’t needed to for any of his classes, but now…now he needed to paint. Not only did he need to paint because Jehan had suggested it, nor because it was a great addiction to replace drinking with, but he needed to paint like he needed air. Since Enjolras had gone missing he had been filled with emotions that he wasn’t even sure what to do with, and the best way to deal was to get them out.

So he painted.

Grantaire painted pictures of all of Les Amis, together at the café; he painted pictures of Enjolras as he seen him, things that he’d never dared to put onto paper or canvas before; painted pictures of the scenery and the beauty of the world that surrounded them; pictures of the darkness that they were trying to change; pictures of Enjolras’ vision of the future. Mixing paints, he drew what he saw when Enjolras began to speak of the future, but kept, in some of the works, the shadow of the past…all in all, they were partially about Enjolras and partially about the work that defined Enjolras.

He didn’t stop at painting either—he had filled two sketchbooks and a half with sketches in various mediums. Not all of them were for Enjolras, granted, that was only one of the sketchbooks, but it was a lot more art than he had done in a while. He left alive again, and realized belatedly that this was why Enjolras perhaps thought that he wasn’t living up to his potential. For the first time in a long time, Grantaire honestly wondered if Enjolras had been right—he had only been living a half life, where he knew content but he didn’t feel _alive_ , not truly and completely _alive_.

For the first time in a while, he could honestly say that he actually liked all the works that he’d been doing. Perhaps not on their artistic measure, because not all of them were artistic masterpieces, but because the emotion was pure and true and he was putting himself on a page and he _liked_ it. He liked art again.

Tonight was the night, and he felt giddy like a schoolgirl. Not only was he going to finally show Enjolras that he did have the worth that Enjolras had always tried to convince him that he had, he was also going to show him that just being a cynic didn’t mean that he didn’t believe in the cause…okay, maybe that was a little far. Maybe he didn’t believe in the cause, but he believed in Enjolras and believed if anyone was able to make it happen, it would be Enjolras.

Because Enjolras could do anything.

And he was going to show him that he wanted to help him do those things.

Tonight he would show himself, and hopefully, tonight Enjolras would forgive them.

*** 

Cosette’s week had been up and down.

If she was honest, it had been mainly down, though each down had an upside of sorts, and that was what she was trying desperately to look at.

First, she had been happy. Marius and her had finally gotten together for another date, and though he was acting a little odd, even for him, it had been wonderful to finally have some alone time. She had thought that he would have a meeting with the rest of Les Amis, but all he would say was that he didn’t have a meeting. Not that he’d tell her anything specific about the meetings anyways. It was something that she had asked him several times, and each time, he would redirect the conversation.

She had met most of his friends, of course she had—they had been dating for almost a year now, but they had never invited her to the meetings and Marius and murmured in passing once that it was only for boys. Which didn’t make much sense as far as she was concerned, because that didn’t really promote equality, but there wasn’t a whole lot that she could do about that, as she wasn’t really in contact with Enjolras, who was kind of the chief of the whole thing. And if Marius wasn’t willing to help her get involved...

So they had had their date, and it had been a bit awkward, and he had wanted to take her back to his apartment even though he knew, _he knew_ , that she had a curfew that her father wasn’t willing to overlook for anything…not that her Uncle Javert {not her biological Uncle, but he was good friends with her father, so she had grown up calling him Uncle} would be overly impressed either, but it was her father that had given Marius the time and Cosette knew that it would end badly if they tried to circumvent the curfew. Marius had pouted the entire drive back to her place and hadn’t even been willing to come to the door with her.

That hadn’t worked in his favour either, especially since her Uncle Javert and he really didn’t like Marius to begin with.

Marius’ inability to “act in a manor more properly befitting a gentlemen” {her Uncle could phrase things so formally sometimes} had caused him to drop even further in the esteem of her Uncle’s eyes and some in her fathers as well. Her Uncle was in part content with this, because he was quite set on the idea that Marius was bad news and he had been moments away from grilling her on any potential ‘illegal activities for which he could be persecuted to the full extent of the law’ when her father had stepped in and told Cosette to go get ready for bed. Sometimes having a police officer for an Uncle was really weird.

The week had gotten a little bit better on Monday morning, when she’d gotten back an essay that she had been really concerned about and had gotten a really good mark, but by Monday afternoon, her week had begun to decline again. She had received a text from a number that she wasn’t familiar with, which turned out to be Grantaire’s number, asking her if she had time to talk with him for a couple of minutes. Cosette, seeing nothing wrong with that, had met him at this quaint little café near campus. When Grantaire started speaking, Cosette went from shock to anger to sadness back to shock before feeling a mixture of the three.

Marius had been using her as an excuse not to come to meetings, or as a way to distract the others at the meeting by talking/whining about her and/or the amount of time they spent together, etc…Not only that, but Marius had begun mocking Enjolras on a semi-regular basis, enough that Enjolras had basically disappeared since the last meeting and Marius wasn’t concerned at all. Marius had begun trying to force Enjolras to change meeting times to accommodate their _potential date nights_. On top of that, Enjolras had, according to Grantaire, asked Marius a couple of times if Cosette, or her father, or both, were interested in coming to a meeting and perhaps being involved with Les Amis, as not only did he think that it might interest them, but he was interested in talking to her father.

Marius had told him that they weren’t interested.

 _Marius had never asked them_.

When finally Grantaire fell silent, she asked if there was anything else that she should know about. Grantaire had hesitated before saying that she would have to talk to Éponine, because it wasn’t really his tale to tell. So, Cosette had asked him to ask her to come down, because she needed the full story before it went any further. Grantaire had done as she’d asked and Éponine had shown up, looking, for the first time since Cosette had met her, a little nervous and unsure. Grantaire had taken Gavroche and left the two of them to talk.

And talk they did.

It seems that Marius had been ‘dating’ Éponine around the same time as he had started going out with Cosette, though Éponine hadn’t known that until they’d been dating almost two months, when Marius finally admitted to her that he was _really_ dating Cosette, and that Éponine was just his friend. Cosette could hardly blame Éponine: she knew that the other girl had been in love with Marius since she had met the man, and if she didn’t know about her dating Marius…

Cosette was furious. Absolutely furious. How dare he. _How dare he_. Here she was, thinking that they were perfect for each other, and here he was, being an absolute and total jackass. On top of her own problems with him, he had hurt one of the people he always said was amongst his group of best friends and he had been hurt badly enough to disappear. _Enjolras_ had disappeared. That simply didn’t happen: he…Cosette stopped herself. It was hardly her place to judge what was normal for him when she didn’t know him very well.

All in all, in the space of an afternoon, she learned that the man that she thought to be perfect for her wasn’t. Not even close. Cosette had never hurt someone else like that intentionally and as it was obvious to everyone that had been there that he didn’t really care, she decided that it was rather obvious that she didn’t really know him either. She had no interest in dating a man that she didn’t know and if that meant that they were going to break up, then that was simply what was going to happen.

Grantaire and Éponine were both apologetic in their own ways, and she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with either of them, because at the end of the day, it was better that she figured this out now as opposed to a year into their marriage. At least she wouldn’t end up like her poor Mother had, God rest her soul—pregnant with the child of a man that was in the middle of a courtship with someone else and who disappeared at the summers end.

She mourned the loss of the person that she thought that she knew and loved, and knew that they were going to have to have a talk, because she couldn’t just walk away, but at the same time, she had a feeling that talking wasn’t going to change much.

Her father seemed to be aware of her sadness, before she even got home, because he had made all of her favourites for dinner and avoided talking about Marius. She wondered if it was because her father was a saint amongst men with the ability to read her, or if perhaps Grantaire had simply alerted him to what was going on. When Marius texted her later that night, she responded quickly with a short “we need to talk” message and they planned to talk the next morning—Marius was going to skip his class and she didn’t have any until 1.

Tuesday morning continued the downwards spiral. Marius really wasn’t the man that she’d thought that he was—in fact, he was nothing like the man that she thought he was. Everything that she brought up, all of her concerns, were carelessly brushed aside and when she had asked after Enjolras, she had gotten a glare and asked if she was dating him in secret. She walked away furious, that relationship over and feeling pretty good about the slap she had given Marius.

Oddly enough, it was that evening that her Uncle had joined them for dinner looking giddier than she had ever seen him, though he refused to share why he was so happy.

As soon as that was over, she had texted Grantaire and asked if there was anything that she could do to help, and if anyone had heard from Enjolras yet. After reassuring her that the person that Enjolras was staying with had been in contact with a couple of them, which put her mind at ease a little bit, he put her into contact with Jehan, who she got along with well immediately, and though she couldn’t do much {he didn’t really want her to be too involved if only because Enjolras wasn’t really close to her and they wanted him to be assured of their honesty} he had said that if she wanted to come Friday night, it might be a good way to help show support for Enjolras.

After that, she had tried to put Marius out of her head, and she had blocked his number, furious that he would even try to talk his way out of their break up. Avoiding him was easy enough, and when Friday came, she made sure that she was ready when Éponine came to pick her up {they were tentatively beginning a friendship because of the bond that had tentatively been created through the general distaste in Marius’ actions}. She was ready to make new friends, away from Marius’ little bubble and she hoped that she could talk to Enjolras about the cause.

She was excited and hopeful, and looking forward to seeing all of Les Amis again.

Hopefully, it would be a great way to avoid thinking about Marius and all would be well.

***

Courfeyrac had spent the majority of the week in a bit of a panic.

Enjolras was missing. No one had heard from him directly since the meeting, and though he knew that Jehan had talked to whomever it was that Enjolras was staying with, he was still in withdrawal. Or at least, what he assumed withdrawal felt like, because he’d never gone through withdrawal. Not that that was important. Enjolras was important. Enjolras was also missing.

And Courfeyrac hadn’t been aware of the importance of that specific aspect of his life until it wasn’t there. Because since he’d met Enjolras, Enjolras had been a constant presence in his life and he’d never really gone more than a day or two without talking to him. Not only was he a gigantic jerk for all of his stupid, running commentary on things that he knew that Enjolras thought were important but he had also brought the primary problem—read: Marius—into their lives and into Les Amis. Combeferre had expressed his uncertainty in letting him join, but Courfeyrac had ignored him because he was like a lost puppy and he would be fine.

Apparently, the lost puppy was a vicious, _vicious_ , biting pit bull {not that there was anything with pit bulls—he liked pit bulls!} that refused to leave his prey alone until there was little left. He knew that Grantaire and Feuilly were putting down the pup, and he had hoped to help, but also knew that Feuilly was terribly angry with him and he didn’t really want to infringe upon his friends space when he was trying to figure out how he was feeling about things. Or felt about things. He didn’t even know at this point.

What he did know was that he was a fop and that he really needed to apologize to Enjolras in a way that wasn’t…in a way that wouldn’t even matter to Enjolras. He could get Enjolras a lovely new hat {or even a lovely new coat…} but he knew for a fact that his friend would never truly appreciate it. He simply wasn’t a man of fashion like Courfeyrac considered himself to be—in fact, he could care less what he was wearing as long as it was clean.

That left clothes and clothes-like things out of the possible list. Enjolras would not be interested in any of the romantic dramas that were currently playing at the theatre, nor would he be interested in going to an art exhibit with him—Enjolras simply wasn’t someone that often indulged himself in such things, and he knew that it would end up being awkward for the two of them to go. That was not to say that Enjolras couldn’t appreciate art, he did appreciate art, especially the art done by those around them, but given the choice, Enjolras was much more likely to grab a book and sit in the lovely bay windows on the second floor at the library {he did pay some attention!} basking in the sun while he read.

Unlike his other friends, he couldn’t write his friend a poem, or draw him a picture, or…actually, he had no idea what the others were going to do either, but he knew that there was only one ‘artsy’ thing that he could do and he wasn’t even sure that it counted or how he would go about doing. Courfeyrac could play the violin. Actually, he could play the violin fairly well, but he didn’t know how to make that into a gift to prove his devotion to his friend. It was a bit of a random skill, honed only because his mother had wished for him to pick up a skill and the violin was as good a skill as any other.

If only he had Jehan’s ability to write poetry, that would be so much easier…wait a minute. Poetry. That was the answer. Poetry! Jumping up from where he’d sat, doodling as he contemplated at his desk, he searched desperately through his bag for the little book of poetry that Jehan had slipped him for “inspiration”. All poems that Jehan had written, either about Enjolras specifically or about the cause, or those little songs and poems from the French Revolution that Enjolras was so fond of. The book was beautifully written; Jehan had obviously asked someone with really gorgeous hand writing for their help, with each poem or song appropriately sourced where possible.

Tingling with excitement, he flipped through the pages, finding several poems that he already had an idea what to do with, a couple that already had music to them that he simply needed to find and a couple that he was unfamiliar with. He would write music for all of them then record them and it would be lovely and it would be a meaning gesture that would show both his devotion to the cause and, more importantly, the depth of his friendship for Enjolras. It was perfect, it was…

Courfeyrac froze. Jehan had known. That sneaky little poet. He had known or he wouldn’t have had the book made up nice-nice. He had been dropping hints about musicality for the last few days as well. Courfeyrac felt a smile grow across his face. Jehan knew them all so well, and he would love to ask him how the hell he found out about his playing the violin, but right now he had music to write.

Lost in his music, Courfeyrac didn’t realize as the time passed. Writing song after song, humming melodies as he filled page after page, he stopped only to send Jehan a quick text that he was going to need him to record the poetry and who was going to sing, because it wasn’t going to be Courfeyrac…he could write music and he could play the violin, but he couldn’t sing to save his life. It was only after he had sat back and finished writing that he realized that he’d had a response. His eyebrows rose.

After Courfeyrac had recorded the violin part, he was to send it to Jehan, who was going to take care of the rest of it. It was Courfeyrac’s job to record it and have the music bound in a nice enough book, and Jehan would take care of everything else. So that’s what he did. Courfeyrac worked on the music and as soon as that was finished, he sent it to Jehan, curious to see how that would turn out when it was done—he didn’t really want to admit it, but he was eager to bind the music in the book {because that was kind of like choosing clothes…kind of…okay, so it wasn’t really, but he was desperate}.

Choosing a lovely graphic of red and black, for Enjolras’ favourite colours, with a hard cover, he had three copies printed up, each one with the same dedication to his friend, Enjolras. Tonight was the night that he would find out how Enjolras was really feeling about things and see if maybe he could be forgiven. He hoped so. He missed his friend.

Hesitating only for a moment, he grabbed his violin before heading for the café. He was probably going to end up playing one of the songs live for Enjolras, and he was eager to show him what he’d done for him. Eager to show him that the cause mattered to all of them, and so did Enjolras. Especially Enjolras. Because without him, there were so many things that would be different in the world around them that Courfeyrac didn’t even want to contemplate. This week without him had been miserable and he hoped that he would never have to go through such a week again in his life.

Whistling one of the tunes, he headed for the café, Enjolras prominent in his mind.

_Red, the blood of angry men..._

***

Combeferre’s week hadn’t been the greatest week, but he knew that it could’ve been worse.

He missed Enjolras. It truly wasn’t until something was gone that you realized how much that thing really meant to you. That was how he was feeling about Enjolras. It wasn’t a feeling that he liked feeling and he hoped that Enjolras was okay wherever he was. It hurt more than he was willing to admit out loud that whomever Enjolras was with had contacted Jehan instead of contacting him. Combeferre had been Enjolras’ best friend since they had met: they lived together; worked together…they did almost everything with each other!

Or at least, they used to. Somewhere along the lines, Enjolras had become his leader and not his friend and that wasn’t fair to either of them. It was because of this…this realization that he had distanced himself from Enjolras unwittingly, he had willingly thrown himself into his work: both the work for the Revolution, and the work for Jehan’s Plan Enjolras.

The Revolution was easy. He was proud to say that he was probably the most versed in Enjolras’ plans and he found it easy enough to expand upon thoughts and write up a couple of tentative speeches for his friend as well as a couple of press releases for their next events…he had updated the social networking that he hadn’t ~~had~~ made time to update recently {even though he had promised to get around to it, it had remained un updated for a while} as well as contacting a couple of the other groups that they worked in tandem with to see what else was going on.

He had gone through Enjolras’ notes, both Revolutionary and class, and had put them in order, colour coding when he could, because he knew that Enjolras appreciated it when he did that, and filed them accordingly. Once that was done, he had begun to contemplate what he could do for Plan Enjolras. He didn’t actually know what he could do…Jehan had given him a vague job and he wasn’t sure what to do. Though he was probably the closest to Enjolras that hardly meant that he was a mind reader!

Get him something that’ll show him that we love the cause to, because that wasn’t a tall order at all! He continued to contemplate before it hit him…he had the perfect idea, and it would be a lovely gift for his friend and for Les Amis. Quickly, he placed a call with a friend of his at the bookstore to see if he was thinking of something that was possible. It was. He smiled. The week was finally looking up. This would be the perfect way to prove that Enjolras was indeed at home with them and that they cared as well. That the cause wasn’t just something they did to shut Enjolras up, but because they honestly cared.

And that they cared and listened and knew Enjolras too.

He couldn’t wait for Friday to come, because he would have to pick up his part of the plan and then he would finally see Enjolras again and hopefully, they would all have a nice long talk and everything would be better. He dared not say fine. He doubted that things would be fine for a while, but for the moment, he was fine with things being better and seeing Enjolras with his own eyes again.

Because it was Enjolras, and if that wasn’t reason enough, he didn’t know what was.

***

Joly, Bousset and Bahorel had spent the week working together {with a bit of help from Musichetta and Éponine}. They weren’t artsy, nor were they Enjolras’ closest companions, so Jehan had left them with an equally important task: they were to decorate the café, prepare the food and all in all, they were in charge of the details.

They could do details.

So they delegated the work amongst them, hopeful that Enjolras would be all right when they seen him next and eager to see him just to see him. Reds and blacks took over the upstairs room where they worked. The sign that Feuilly and Grantaire had made for Les Amis was hung on the door, while the maps, signs for the protests, the press packages and the various others aspects of the work that they did had been organized. It wasn’t until they had begun to organize that they’d truly realized the amount of work that went into running Les Amis.

They all felt a bit guilty, because they knew that it was mainly Enjolras that did this work, but they vowed to change that starting now. Combeferre’s ‘To Do’ list were put with his list of points to discuss during the Friday meeting, and they were put on the top of the desk, so that it would be impossible to miss it when Enjolras came in.

Joly added a medicine kit to the room, deciding that it was worth it to be absolutely prepared {he prepared a couple more at home, as he had a feeling that he was going to need the majority of the bandages for Bousset during the decorating process}. He also made up a list of other contacts throughout the city and the suburbs so that, if he wasn’t available and it was beyond the expertise of Combeferre, they still had possibilities beyond the hospital. He had always said that he would, but had never actually done it, and he proudly added it to the book of important contacts.

Bousset contributed his blood to the Revolution room: over the course of the week, he sustained 23 injuries from various situations {that was actually a personal low—he was more than just a little surprised by that} but they had managed to get it done and he didn’t even think that Courfeyrac would be able to find anything to complain about. It had also been his job to ensure that no one, absolutely no one, was allowed in the room before Enjolras Friday night—because Enjolras deserved to see it first. Also, though it was a secret that he hadn’t even shared with Joly, Bahorel and he had done a duet to some violin music under Jehan’s directions. It had gone better than he had expected, since he had thought he was the only singer amongst Les Amis.

Bahorel had spent the majority of the week visiting fellow groups and seeing if there was anything that he could do to help them: he missed the action that went with the rallies that they usually held and hoped that Enjolras had a couple of them lined up for the next couple of weeks, or he may have to find a new way to entertain himself. He had considered tracking down Marius and beating his head in, but he had a feeling that between Grantaire and Feuilly, the boy was going through enough trouble and didn’t need him to add to that.

Friday evening was finally upon them and they were eager and nervous, and waiting.

It was time for Enjolras to come home, and they could only hope that he wanted to stay home.

***

Marius’ week had been terrible.

Actually, scratch that, it had been absolutely terrible.

He had thought that the week was going to be fantastic—after Enjolras hadn’t come to the meeting, according to the others, because he was missing, he had had a date with Cosette. It hadn’t really been a _bad_ date, but it hadn’t been a wonderful date either. He had totally lost track of the time, so before he had even really thought about it, it was time to take Cosette home so that she wouldn’t miss her curfew. Which meant that the movie-date at his place was a no go.

He had tentatively tried to convince her that a couple hours over curfew weren’t a big deal, but that hadn’t worked at all either. Especially since her father had been the one to tell Marius that she had to be back at a specific time, which the man had done while starring him down. He often felt that Cosette’s father didn’t like him much, though it was nothing compared to the looks that he got from her Uncle.

Marius really wasn’t that surprised that she wouldn’t miss her curfew, she never had before {not that he’d asked her to before either}, but it would’ve been nice to spend a little bit more time together…if there hadn’t been a meeting, maybe they could’ve had a full date instead of just the awkward dinner that they had had. He hated it when she asked him about what was going on in the meetings because he didn’t really want to share Cosette with anyone else, and taking her to the meetings would be sharing her, and she already did a lot of other volunteer/save-the-world like things on her own. She didn’t have to help Les Amis out too.

Driving her back to her place had been terrible. Mainly because Cosette was a little…he wouldn’t say angry, but definitely not impressed, that he had even asked her to skip her curfew, but he had only hoped that they could hang out a little bit more. Finally, Marius had finally gotten back to her place and she had gone while he had stayed in the car, not wanting to face her father twice in one night.

He had driven around for a while, trying to figure out how he was going to make this one up to her, because he knew that it was out of line for him to ask, before he had finally gotten back to his place and gone to sleep.

It was after that that things really started to go to hell.

He, or someone else {he still wasn’t sure which}, had unplugged his alarm clock which meant that by the time that he woke up, he had definitely missed his 8:30 class and was not going to make it to campus in time for his 10 class either…well, he could probably make it for about half way through class, but then the teacher would probably call him out for being late because it was a small class and, honestly, he was better off to just skip it. On top of that, when he had gone for his shower, there had been only a little hot water left, and cold showers were not fun at all.

He had no coffee left, so he’d sent a quick text to Courfeyrac to ask if he could drop by some coffee when he dropped by the class notes later that day. Well, Courfeyrac had brought him coffee, but it was some decaffeinated he didn’t even know what thing that Courfeyrac had brought because it was eco-friendly or something. His joke that he wasn’t Enjolras hadn’t gone over too well—apparently, no one other than him had heard from Enjolras and they were all more than a little worried about him.

Which he didn’t understand, because it was Enjolras and Enjolras was strong and marble: he didn’t falter, he didn’t break, and he couldn’t see why they were worried when it was obvious to him that Enjolras had simply gone to take a bit of a break. Sure, it would’ve been nice if Enjolras had actually told them that, but maybe it was a last minute decision? Or maybe he was actually in the process of working with another group? Marius didn’t know, but he did know that Enjolras was fine wherever he was and they were going to see him Friday, and then everything would be back to normal.

Courfeyrac didn’t agree. Went on about Enjolras never doing anything like that before and had only disappeared because he had a reason to: because he was hurt by their perceptions of him. Marius shrugged and told Courfeyrac that they would have to agree to disagree, because he didn’t think so. Courfeyrac had left shortly thereafter, leaving Marius with the impression that Courfeyrac was angry with him, though he didn’t know why.

Courfeyrac’s abrupt departure had left him with another problem: the notes that he had dropped off were all written in shorthand and he couldn’t decipher half of it to save his life. Then, he had missed the bus for his last class of the day, and Combeferre didn’t answer his text asking for notes for the class and Enjolras didn’t answer his texts or his phone calls asking for help studying for the midterm and he got that feeling in his bones that the rest of the week wasn’t going to be a whole lot better either.

He was right.

His Tuesday had been going better than the day before, though his advisor wouldn’t be able to see him until Friday-ish {they’d plan an actual day and time a little later in the week when his advisor would know if he was free on Friday or if he was going to be at some symposium}. Then, half-way to his first class, he had remembered that he had a mini-date with Cosette at one of the cafés near the University, and had scrambled to get everything together so that he was only a minute or two late.

Rushing, he had been moderately successful: he had only been 5 minutes late, but by the time that he got there, Cosette was already frowning and doing that thing that she did when she was stressed and angry: tapping her fingers on the tabletop. Gulping, he had decided that apologizing for being late would be acknowledging that he was late, and maybe if he didn’t say anything, she wouldn’t either. It had gone down hill from there.

Firstly, it wasn’t even really a date, because they needed to talk and then she had started. Questions about Les Amis, about Enjolras, about Marius’ attitude with her father…about Éponine. Someone had told her about Enjolras’ inquiries after her involvement, along with that of her father and about him not telling her, not wanting to; about Enjolras being “missing”; and about the mistake with Éponine.

Poor Éponine. He honestly hadn’t meant to hurt her—in fact, he hadn’t even realized that she thought they were dating until he had gotten a text from Cosette asking if he had time to hang out or go on a date, because she had a bit of free time. Then, when he had giddily explained this to Ép that was when he realized that she thought they were dating. It was stupid, but he hadn’t realized that she was in love with him until that moment. Since he was rather clueless when it came to people, he had lost one of his best friends and he had only been lucky that she hadn’t made a big deal out of it.

He tried brushing them aside, pointing out that they could be on a date right now instead of talking about these other things, especially because he didn’t really want to talk to her about any of that. Not about Enjolras and definitely not about Éponine. As he did so, she got more and more angry, which made him angry in turn. The final straw was when she basically pleaded for news about Enjolras, when he had spat at her questions of her own fidelity to him. Not because he actually thought that she was dating Enjolras, but in an attempt to deflect the topic away.

It hadn’t worked the way that he had hoped. In fact, it hadn’t worked at all. All he had gotten for his trouble was a vicious slap across the face {damn, Cosette could slap}, a break up with the angel of his dreams, and her rushing away from him after declaring that he wasn’t the man that she thought that he was. Placing his head in his hands, he wondered where it had all gone wrong.

The rest of the week went equally as terrible. He found himself running late for the majority of his classes because his new-fangled contraption of a watch gained and lost time more often than it kept it. That was what he got for replacing the gift from Cosette with the digital age, he supposed. Marius found himself openly ignored by Cosette, and couldn’t seem to catch any of Les Amis—it was almost like they were giving him the cold shoulder, not that he understood why.

And he seemed to have the worst luck in general: he must’ve borrowed it from Bousset or something, because anything that could go wrong was going wrong. Enjolras still hadn’t answered any of his texts, and he really hoped that he got back to him soon. He finally got his car out of the shop, but then, it had gotten beaten with something. Marius was pretty sure that it was hit by a baseball bat, but he didn’t actually know for sure, just as he didn’t really know who it was that had beaten it up nor why they would’ve done that. His Grandfather, in one of his many flights of fancy, had decided to cut him off for the moment, paying only for the things that were absolutely essential. All of the work that he had on his computer had been wiped clean: apparently, a Trojan horse had been placed in an email and he had opened it and was still regretting that decision, because that had meant that the essay due on Thursday, that he’d written with Enjolras’ help {not that he’d admit that to anyone else} was gone and he had to start from scratch.

His phone wasn’t working, some of his clothes were missing, he was out of groceries, he was tired, he was sore {he’d been tripping over things all week as well, though he couldn’t figure out why, because he usually was pretty good at avoiding things like that} and he was hopeful that the meeting with Les Amis that night would solve everything. He could give Bousset his luck back, talk to Enjolras and everyone else {maybe figure out what the cold shoulder was about} and get Jehan’s help to get Cosette back. Because he loved her, missed her, needed her, and at this point, was even willing to talk through everything he had wanted to avoid talking about if it meant that they could be a couple again.

Looking forward to the evening, he waited patiently for the time to come…and then realized that he was going to be late. Hurrying, he hoped he wasn’t too late. Maybe he could come in quietly and then nobody would really notice that he was running late.

Tonight, everything would return to normal and life would be fine.

And maybe someone could explain why he was being stalked by some police officer guy, who seemed to have a thing for leaning against a building just down the street with a smoke, hat pulled low and collar high, watching him…

***

Javert had had an amazing week.

Someone had given him proof that Marius was a stalker, validating how terrible he was for Cosette and Cosette and he were no longer a couple. He had spent the week following the boy, hoping to see what other illegal activities he was up to. It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to go on the hunt.

Life was looking up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very very very sorry for the wait on this, but life has been ridiculously hectic lately, and I should be able to update it regularly hereafter. 
> 
> Have a lovely long weekend and Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians!

Enjolras blinked.

The absolute last thing that he’d expected, walking up the stairs at the café, was for all of Les Amis {with the exception of Marius, and the addition of what looked like Cosette, Éponine and Mushietta} waiting outside the door. Not only that, but they were looking nervous and only Jehan seemed to be completely at ease with waiting outside, humming something to himself as he re-braided his hair, leaning against the wall beside the door. Despite his talking with Julian throughout the week, he had still thought in part that his friends wouldn’t even be there, never mind that they had a meeting.

But they were all here and waiting for him to arrive.

Enjolras blinked again.

Looking closer at the door to their room itself, it also looked like there was a new sign on their door proclaiming the room the “Home of Les Amis” which he knew for sure had never been there before. It was a nice sign too and obviously hand done. He felt his heart rise a little bit; maybe his friends did care about the cause.

It was Combeferre that noticed him standing at the top of the stairs first and Enjolras was surprised at the emotions that flared across his friends face before Combeferre rushed over to him and, after only a moments hesitation, he was suddenly pulled into a tight hug.

“Enjolras.” Combeferre breathed into his shoulder, holding him tight, before pulling away leaving his hands on his shoulders and looking him right in the eye. “I’m so glad that you’re alright. How are you?” Enjolras blinked again. Combeferre had been…worried? Why would he be worried? It had only been a week and he had thought his friends wouldn’t be concerned…

“I’m…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’, or I swear, I’m going to hurt you.” Enjolras blinked again, before his lips quirked up into a smile as Julian came to his side. He wasn’t the only one that blinked this time. Les Amis looked between Enjolras and the new comer and couldn’t help but wonder if they were seeing double. Whoever it was that had come with Enjolras looked exactly like him, only he was about a head shorter and looked a little younger.

“Alright, alright.” Enjolras appeased, an arm briefly wrapping around Julian in a one armed hug of sorts, before letting him go and turning back to Combeferre. “I’m working on it ‘Ferre.” He answered, the smile not leaving his lips and a smile blooming on Combeferre’s face in answer, because he knew it to be the truth. Perhaps not necessarily what he wanted to hear, but it was the truth, and he could live with that.

“Good.” Combeferre said, satisfied. He hesitated, before deciding it would be worth it. “It’s good to have you back Enj…we’ve missed you.” Taking advantage of the surprise obvious in every line of Enjolras’ body, he clapped his hand on Enjolras shoulder before pulling back. When no else moved, unsure how to react to the stunned look on Enjolras’ face, Jehan took the initiative, smiling as he came forward and pulled Enjolras into another hug.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Enj. Come: you should see what we’ve done!” Excitedly bouncing up and down, he took Enjolras’ arm and dragged him towards the door. Julian smirked as Enjolras threw him a ‘help me’ look and then followed him with an over-exaggerated sigh when Enjolras shot him a glare. At Jehan’s insistence, Enjolras opened the door.

And then he froze.

Completely froze.

This could not be the same place as it was last week. There was simply no way that he was in the same place: Julian must’ve driven him to the wrong café and they were holding their meeting at one of their sister societies’ meeting places, because this could not, simply could _not_ be their room. Reds and blacks strewn all over; a couple maps on the wall and a bin marked as full of other maps; an organized desk {the desk was _never_ organized}; a podium for him to speak at instead of having to jump on a table or a chair {he had no doubt that that was Joly’s influence—he was convinced that the table wasn’t going to be stable one day when he got up on it and he would be maimed}…reverently, he walked around the room, shocked and pleased with the amount of work that had gone into this.

Binders on the desk, all marked and organized by protest type or subject with all of the relevant contacts, pictures from past protests, the posters that they had used along with what looked like a list of points for what had worked and what hadn’t worked at each protest. They’d been written in a variety of different handwritings, and though most were in Combeferres’, it appeared that everyone {even Grantaire!} had written out at least one. This wasn’t something that could be done in an afternoon; he realized that it had quite possibly taken all of them the entire week.

And it didn’t stop there. The room was full of things that Les Amis had done for the cause: filled with their efforts to help him help the world. It was breathtaking and he could feel tears in his eyes as he continued his slow trek around the room, occasionally taking the time to take a closer look at something.

He didn’t notice that Julian and all of Les Amis had come in through the door and were watching his progression with a mixture of smiles and concern on their faces. They weren’t sure how he felt about it as he wasn’t facing them, and they were concerned that maybe he didn’t like it. Realizing that he had to break that concerned energy, Jehan gave Courfeyrac a quick shove towards where Jehan had left his violin. Courfeyrac shot him a look that Jehan returned with a raised eyebrow, that had Courfeyrac mumbling about bruises and abusive friends, but did as he’d been indicated. Calmly, he grabbed his violin and hesitated: he was unsure what to play first. Finally, he resolved to go with his gut, and even though this wasn’t one of the songs that he had recorded, he had a feeling that it was perfect anyways.

The first strains of La Marsaielle didn’t go without notice, and Enjolras stopped his perusal of the room to look at his friends in shock. Taking that as encouragement, Courfeyrac began to play louder and Jehan and Julian calmly began to sing, the rest of Les Amis slowly joining in. It didn’t take long before Enjolras was standing, mouth open with shock as each of his friends sang La Marasaielle at what he was sure was the top of their lungs, smiling at him as they did so until they had finished, and then the room feel eerily silent.

It was in that silence that Grantaire hesitantly approached Enjolras next, a package in his hand. Standing before his idol, Grantaire froze as he caught his surprised gaze. Shyly, he made the decision to go through with it, and blushing as he looked at his shoes instead of at Enjolras as he handed over the picture that was the masterpiece of all of the pieces that he had made for Enjolras. He could feel Enjolras’ gaze on him as he opened the picture but couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

Enjolras looked at the picture that Grantaire had given him and he couldn’t help the surprised gasp that escaped his mouth. He knew that Grantaire was talented, but he had, evidently, not an iota of an idea that Grantaire was capable of this kind of art, when he put his mind to it.

Enjolras was sure that he could wax lyrical on par with that of Jehan’s about the sheer beauty, talent and emotion showcased in this piece. It also reaffirmed that he was right to try and push Grantaire to do more with his life, because it was obvious that he could if only he really wanted to.

It was glorious.

It was magnificent.

It was _them_.

All of Les Amis, standing together, as though a group picture—a group picture that he knew Grantaire had painted from memory, because this photo didn’t actually exist. They never took group pictures, either because they simply didn’t have the time, or because they didn’t want to, or he wasn’t even sure what the reason was, and frankly, it didn’t matter. What mattered, was that this didn’t exist and Grantaire had made it exist, and it looked like them: in fact, it looked so like them, that if he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed that it was a painting of a picture, and it was quite possibly the best picture that he’d ever seen.

Grantaire waited in silence as Enjolras looked at the picture that he had presented him, not daring to look up. After the gasp, there was nothing, and each moment longer in silence was another that he affirmed to himself—another moment that he was absolutely sure that, Enjolras hated the picture. His heart sinking, it wasn’t until Enjolras spoke that he began to feel at ease once again.

“’Taire.” Enjolras whispered in awe, and Grantaire slowly raised his head until they were looking each other in the eye. “This is beautiful. I love it.” Grantaire could read the truth in Enjolras’ eyes and couldn’t help the smile that radiated across his face. Gently taking the picture from his friends’ hands, he wrapped Enjolras into a hug, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…I’ve been really stupid, and we need to talk later, but I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me and I’m sorry.” Enjolras hugged him back, nodding easily and immediately feeling more at ease in the room at large because he suddenly realized that his friends knew how he’d been feeling and were determined to show him that he was wrong.

Julian was right. He had friends. They were his _friends_. He had friends, and they were all willing to work with him and he was happy.

As Grantaire took his place back with the others, one by one, his friends came forward to present them with the work that they had done and the gifts that they had made for him. As each of them came forward, Enjolras could feel his own emotions level out as he became more content and he found himself content with his friends. Julian’s reassurances that he was worth friends and that he was a wonderful person, and everything else that his brother had told him, solidified in his mind as he spoke with each of his friends. The acknowledgments that his friends had done something wrong and that they were sorry healed his heart more than he had thought possible. Finally, he was being seen as a human being instead of as a stone god from the days of old.

It was when Courfeyrac hesitantly asked if they were okay that he came to the biggest realization of the night. He could not forget what his friends had easily and thoughtlessly done, and he didn’t think that he wanted to forget, but he could forgive them. It may take a little bit more time than just the instant reaction that his friends were expecting, but he would work on it. He paused only for a moment, before voicing exactly that to his friends. Instead of being angry or frustrated with him, his friends instead seemed happy with that—happy that they were forgiven and that Enjolras was acknowledging that he was human, that he needed help and that that would probably take time.

It made him feel better to see that they felt better, but he could not begin to explain why it was that they had taken his answer so easily. It was Jehan, coming up to him as he watched his friends interact that explained it to him simply with a single sentence.

“You’re more than a leader to us Enj—you’re our friend, and we missed you and were worried for you and we’re just happy that you’re not leaving us completely because we love you Enj, and we’re all sorry that we haven’t been as attentive to you as we should’ve been and let you think otherwise.”

Tears came to his eyes as his friends spoke, laughed, cried and apologized and Enjolras felt _alive_ and well once again. Enjolras felt like things were finally looking up. He knew, instinctively, that everything was not fixed, nor was everything perfect, but his friends were aware that he was hurting—they were aware that everything wasn’t okay, and he hoped that these gestures meant that they were willing to work with him to get better. They were willing to stop making comments that hurt him, or at least were more aware that he was hurt by those comments, and perhaps now he’d know that they meant them mainly in jest.

He felt light, he felt happy and he was finally, _finally_ at peace with himself.

And hopefully he would stay that way.

***

Julian approached him after Enjolras had talked with everyone in the room, hesitantly placing a hand upon his shoulder. Tears still streaming down Enjolras face, he turned to Julian with a brilliant smile, the proof of his happiness lighting up the room brighter than any light bulb would ever be able to. Enjolras, Julian knew, had needed this reassurance and, talking with his brothers’ friends while they each talked to Enjolras individually, Julian knew that he was leaving his brother in good hands. Not that he had any intention of leaving his brother for good, but he knew that he could leave his brother with these people and that things would be okay.

Or, he thought with a slight smirk, they would be now that Enjolras had confronted them and Julian had talked with them as well. He knew that Enjolras had to fight his own battles, but damn it, he wanted to help as much as he could, because Enjolras had always been a big help to him, and he wanted to help him as much as he could in turn. Hopefully, this last week had showed Enjolras that Julian would always be there for him whenever he needed him and could help him. Even if it was just a little bit, any help that he could offer was better than no help.

Enjolras had some really nice friends. He didn’t think that Courfeyrac would be mocking Enjolras without thinking ever again, and he knew that Grantaire still had to have a private talk with his brother, but in general, he was happy with his brother’s friends. Especially Jehan, but he suspected that was more because of the others’ role in this meeting than it was anything else.

Courfeyrac’s CD playing lightly in the background, the atmosphere had changed from one of anticipation to one of contentedness as everyone spoke and enjoyed each others company, until Joly and Bousset began chanting something that had everyone quickly picked up on, until everyone was chanting it together to a blushing Enjolras who was quickly pushed towards the podium.

“Speech. Speech. Speech. Speech!”

Enjolras, despite being surprised at the action, didn’t seem to be any less prepared than when he usually was and, after only a moment or twos hesitation, Julian watched with a smile on his face as his brother launched himself into a speech on the tuition fees at the university—from their talks, the matter at the centre of their next protest. Watching his brother, Julian could tell that Enjolras was in his element as he spoke with passion, his hands quickly motioning when he thought that it was necessary or for emphasis and his thoughts materializing and joining each of them together as they listened in awe and inspiration as Enjolras spoke.

Everything was going perfectly, and Enjolras would slowly be able to get better and everything would be fine.

At least, Julian had assumed, as much until he seen the door open and the last person that he was assuming would show up, entered.

What was Marius doing here?

***

Marius, for his part, had finally made it to the Café. It had taken long enough, and he knew that he was more than just ridiculously late compared to their regular meeting times, but he had no idea why things simply weren’t working this week. Apparently, not only could he find no mode of transportation that would actually get him to where he wanted to go, but he could also swear that someone was following him in a strange hat and a long trench coat like thing—perhaps it was that police officer that had been following him all week? He still didn’t know why he was being followed, but it was the only thing that made any kind of sense.

From the sounds coming from the Café, everyone else was here, and it sounded like Enjolras was mid-speech, not that that was anything new. With a soft sigh, he wondered if they would ever meet without Enjolras giving a speech of some sort.

It would work in his favour though—in fact, it was perfect. He could sneak in quietly and no one would even react and then he could bluff that he had been there the entire time. It was a brilliant plan and he didn’t think anything could go wrong with it. Things were finally back to normal and nothing would have changed except that Enjolras was finally back amongst them. Why he had taken an entire week off was beyond him, but at least he was back and things were normal again.

Well, he was wrong.

As soon as he’d walked into the room, he couldn’t help but gap at the room. Someone had spent a lot of time and put a lot of work into making the room a lot more impressive looking than its original “back of a Café” look. Reds and blacks and maps and binders and…was Enjolras at a podium? Wow. Perhaps Enjolras was taking this whole “cause” thing seriously after all.

He managed to make it to his usual place and listened as Enjolras spoke, and waited for an appropriate pause, which, he thought to himself glumly, was longer in coming than he was expecting. The atmosphere was different, he noticed with a pause. No one had said anything to Enjolras and there was no mocking from anyone, whether from Grantaire or anyone else. It was more than just a little odd for Marius to hear the rapt silence that was accompanying the speech that Enjolras was speaking, as they took in everything that he was saying. Looking around, there was no one that wasn’t paying attention, instead, Enjolras seemed to hold their complete attention. Marius shrugged to himself.

He could lighten up the atmosphere in this place as soon as Enjolras paused.

Finally, after what felt like forever to Marius as he waited, Enjolras paused in his speech and Marius took it upon himself to make a comment, like Grantaire would usually make {he wondered, absent-mindedly if Grantaire was even here tonight, because he had never remained silent when Enjolras was speaking}. Marius smiled to himself as he opened his mouth, waiting for the backing of the crowd.

“Finally putting your attention back on the cause, are you Enjolras?” Marius ignored the way that the room seemed to chill, thinking that he was making it up in his head as he watched Enjolras stiffen almost immediately. Ignoring the way that Enjolras’ eyes sought him out, he continued, looking down to avoid the glare that he had no doubt was there, making sure to speak clearly so that no one would be unable to hear him. “You couldn’t take the time to help me out with my essays or anything that I asked you for help with, but you have time to hang your red and black table cloths from the ceiling to…what? Make us feel more devoted? I know that this is hard for you to…”

Soon, Marius was so caught up in what he was saying that he had stopped paying attention to the others in the room.

Which was why he found it as such a surprise when he felt a blow land to the side of his face; hard enough to make him fall to the ground in shock and grab his face.

Had…had he just…had he just been punched in the face?

Someone had just punched him in the face!

Gaping, he looked up to find Enjolras standing over him, a furious flush to his face and an angry glint in his eyes. He must have moved really fast, Marius mused, because he hadn’t even noticed him moving. The proof of that movement though could still be felt on his face as he nursed his cheek and looked down then around to find that everyone else seemed to be in an equal state of shock. Enjolras was almost shaking with the anger and then he spoke in a voice that Marius had never heard before.

The next words were not a question, nor were they an option, but rather, it was a command. A command that Marius had no intention of ignoring, as he gulped and felt himself being pulled up from the floor by the front of his shirt and brought eye-to-eye with Enjolras.

“Marius. We need to talk.”


	9. Chapter 9

Marius was mildly confused as to what was going on right now, as he gently touched his jaw where, he was more than sure, a bruise was forming. After punching him, Enjolras had dragged him into the small room off of the main meeting room, pushed him towards the chair and had taken up position at the window, looking out into the dimly lit streets of Paris, seemingly contemplating something. This was really not what he had expected and he wondered what it was exactly that they were even doing in his side room.

Looking anywhere but at Enjolras, he hoped that perhaps Enjolras would just let him go and he could forget about it, then he could go home and sleep off the horror that had been this week. Then he could wake up and hopefully this would all have been a dream of sorts, and he would be back in the real world: a world were Enjolras would never punch _him_ , and where he was still dating Cosette and where there was nothing wrong with the world at large. 

He was beginning to wonder if maybe that world had only ever existed in his head. 

It seemed like a long time, perhaps even an eternity, though he was sure that it couldn’t have been quite that long, before Enjolras made his statement. It was a quiet statement, one that Marius had to strain his ears to hear and one that surprised him immensely, and that had him visibly starting in surprise. 

“I am human you know.” 

If there was a list of the things that Marius thought that Enjolras would say when he had grabbed him, that did not even make the list. In fact, he would never have thought that Enjolras would’ve said anything of the sort—he was expecting a lecture on the fact that he was late not…not this. Whatever this was. 

Enjolras continued to look out into the streets, unaware of the affect his statement had had on Marius, before he turned to Marius calmly. "What do you see?" Confused, Marius simply looked at Enjolras, wondering what in the world he could have meant by that statement. Enjolras looked tense, his shoulders higher than normal and his lips thinned in what Marius could only assume was annoyance. "Marius," Enjolras stated when he realized that Marius was not going to answer him with anything but his stare, "what do you see?" 

"What are you talking about?" Marius finally managed to blurt out, having no idea where this conversation was going. He had thought that things would go back to normal, but in its place, was complete and utter confusion. What was going on?

"What do you see," Enjolras asked calmly, the annoyance still slight on his face though it softened slightly when he realized that Marius had no idea what he was talking about, "when you look at the world beyond us; when you look at the world outside of this window? What do you see when you look at yourself?" he emphasized, gesturing towards the window that he had just been looking out of. There was a moment of hesitation before Enjolras finished softly, "What do you see when you look at me?" 

Blinking, Marius couldn't stop looking at Enjolras, wondering what bizarre world he had walked into this past week that this was actually a question that he was being asked. He pinched his leg, hoping that it would prove that this was all just an odd dream. At the exasperated look that Enjolras gave him when he noticed the action, he realized that perhaps this _was_ reality. 

"When I look outside that window," Marius started as he also gestured towards the window, gaining courage as he continued to speak, a hint of a sneer on his face, "I see the city Paris and its streets. I see the few people of Paris still out at this time as they hustle to wherever it is that they need to go and I see what there is obvious to the eye. Why," he continued, seeing the look on Enjolras' face, "what do you see when you look outside the window?" 

Enjolras paused for a moment, turning to look at out the window, his eyes taking in details that Marius assumed that he had missed as Marius waited for him to begin speaking. 

"You and I see some of the things the same," he began, fiddling gently with the hem on his coat before turning to look at Marius, using his hands to gesture as he spoke. "I also see the city of Paris, its street and it people. But I also see something far beyond the humble streets below the window—I see more than just the streets and their dim lights; see more than the few people walking hurriedly down the street; see more than the potential for snow that hangs in the select clouds and more than the darkness prevailing over the light of the rising moon." Enjolras smiled slightly as he got more and more passionate as he spoke. 

Marius looked at Enjolras curiously, before it clicked what exactly it was that Enjolras meant. 

He could simply see _more_. 

He could, Marius supposed, see that day in the future, where it was the society that had changed while those streets outside the window still remained the same—he could see the end of poverty, the beginning of universal health care, education and progress. He could see everything that they were fighting for being achieved—Enjolras could see the beauty of the potential of the world that lay beneath the surface. He could see the perfect Paris; nay, the perfect France, and the paths that they would have to follow to get there. It was beautiful, it was powerful and it was a Paris that Marius could not see. 

Perhaps…perhaps that was part of the reason that Marius did not understand Enjolras. 

Perhaps that was why Enjolras was their leader and he was not.

Enjolras had always been an idealist of the sort that Marius could never be, for Marius could see what was but had difficulties seeing beyond that—he had difficulties seeing the world that lay at their fingertips as soon as they put in their hard work and made that world come to light. Maybe that was…

“Marius.” 

Marius blinked and looked up at Enjolras, who was leaning against the window and looking at him, his arms crossed, with a gaze that was neither sharp nor annoyed but rather, was simply…it simply was and if there was anything else in that gaze it was perhaps curiosity mixed with a little bit of sympathy, which was a look that Marius had never seen on Enjolras before. 

“Marius, did you hear me?” Enjolras questioned lightly, an air of calmness about him that Marius had not expected. For the first time, Marius seen Enjolras the man instead of Enjolras the robot. It was quite a change. Marius could not bring himself to answer, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He nodded his head, lowering his eyes once again, loosing any will to demean Enjolras when he was not surrounded by anyone else that would back him up and seeing him as a fellow human being for the first time in...well, in a long time. Shrugging the revelation off as best as he could, he decided to move on to the next question.

"When I look at myself," he started, his mouth having difficulty forming words as though he was talking through cotton balls, before he decided that he could say this, because it was the truth. He stood a little taller and met Enjolras' eyes. "When I look at myself, I see someone that my father would be proud of and I see the man that I want to be." Marius looked down wondering how to phrase the next answer. "When I look at you," Marius started before he looked up, unable to resist, and met Enjolras' eyes. In those eyes, he seen a spark—he seen _the_ spark that made Enjolras…well, Enjolras. For some reason it irked him—it stroked his fury at the man before him well beyond the boiling point. 

Here before him was a man whose entire life was perfect, a man who had never known a hard day in his life! Though he knew very little about his family life, there was nothing to indicate that he had gone through the hardships that Marius himself had gone through, and he had never had any problems talking to people unless you counted that Enjolras talked too much, too loudly sometimes. 

Enjolras had everything going for him—from his looks to his smarts to his leadership to…to everything! Marius didn’t understand why his friends had closed ranks around someone who must’ve left them for an attention ploy of some sort because there was nothing wrong with him!

His anger loosened his tongue and Marius found himself leaping up from his chair, roaring his anger at Enjolras. Snarling, he walked a hole into the floor as he stomped angrily back and forth, occasionally snapping in Enjolras’ direction, where he still stood standing against the window, before he continued to stomp. 

Later, he would never remember what it was that he had said, only the general gist: that Enjolras was an attention seeker, made of marble, who didn’t believe in his cause and who didn’t need his friends to protect him and who, for that matter, had had no right to punch him! That Enjolras was a man without family, without friends...Finally, he ran out of words and found himself panting in front of Enjolras as his anger ebbed away.

Yet still, there stood Enjolras, his back to the window, arms still crossed as he looked at him, with seemingly no reaction upon his face. A moment passed before Enjolras uncrossed his arms and pushed himself up from where he was leaning and calmly walked up to Marius until they were standing nose to nose. 

“I. Am. Human.” Here Enjolras paused slightly, _perhaps for dramatic effect_ , Marius’ mind whispered. “I am not made of marble nor am I untouchable—in fact, I am very much skin and flesh and bones. But I am more than that: I am a human being with human emotions and reactions and because of that, it is more than just wind in my ears when I hear the whispered words in the backs of the rooms—in the winds’ stead is the roaring of lions, each word hitting like a blow.

I hear your thoughts and those of everyone else in the Café and I do not go home and ignore what I have heard—there are times that I have gone home and wondered what I had done that you would think that I was the marble, this robot, this inhumane being whose only purpose was to bother and belittle you.”

Another pause, this one with a sweeping of his hand and a pulling back from where they had stayed, eye to eye as Marius watched the emotions clash in that brilliant blue. 

“I am a man, no more than any other man, and I am a man who is working towards bettering the world that surrounds me with everything that I have. In that room over there,” and here, Enjolras gestured towards the general direction of their meeting room in the Café “are my men, but more than that, they are my friends. They are my friends because they have proven to me that I am more than just a leader and the cause is more than just a passing fancy. This is not just another hat for Courfeyrac to try on—this is what we are working towards. Marius…” a slight hesitation, in which they met eyes once again and Marius was a little shocked with the emotion in his eyes—for there was more than just anger in his gaze as he had assumed there would be but instead, there was something akin to…insecurity? 

“Do not misunderstand me,” he continued before Marius could interrupt, “I have not always agreed with what you have said nor with what you have done—in fact, I think other Grantaire, you are the one that sits the furthest from my personal point of view. But being carbon copies is not the creed nor the purpose of a good friendship—I do not want people who only agree with me blindly: I would rather have a diversified argument as opposed to my own thoughts being repeated. My problem does not lie with your political leanings, regardless of what I think of them. My problem lies with your attitude.” 

Marius was staring at Enjolras in shock as once again Enjolras paused, this time to look at him, seemingly to gauge if he was paying attention. He needed not to have worried about that, as Marius was hanging onto every word. He must’ve heard a hundred speeches that Enjolras had written but this one…this one was the one that Marius knew in his soul he would remember until the day that he died.

“I do not mind that you have a girlfriend, or do you not think that I would’ve gotten fed up with Courfeyrac a long time ago? If I were angered by your continuous tardiness or your absences at some of the meetings, do you not think that I would’ve grown weary of Feuilly or Bahorel already? If it were your political views that I had problems with, Grantaire would’ve been asked to leave years ago. It is none of these things that bother me—rather, it is this attitude of you that I am useless, that I am not as invested into this mission as the rest of you—that I have no family, no friends, no power, nothing. I am not that person. I am not an island and I cannot stand alone, no matter what you seem to think or what the others sometimes throw at my back in mock. I am human and it hurts.”

Enjolras spun from him to look out the window for another moment, as if to try and gain a bit of strength, before turning back to Marius, his speech softer this time instead of the edge that had begun to appear in his speech. 

“I was not simply ignoring you for an entire week Marius, and the world does not revolve around you. After your words last meeting I,” he paused for a moment before continuing, even softer than before, “I was hurt and wondering if there was any point to running Les Amis if I was the only one that believed in the cause and if I was only there for the lot of you to mock without reproach. Everything that you’ve said, and that Courfeyrac and Grantaire and…well, almost all of you, was running circles in my head on repeat and I couldn’t…I couldn’t continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.” Enjolras sighed softly, running his hand through his hair, steeling himself to continue. 

“Everyone needs help sometimes and…well, it was my turn to need help. So I went looking for it and, luckily, I found it. Marius…I’ve been spending this week getting my head on straight because there have been a lot of comments thrown at me that I…that I was thinking were true and that were slowly lowering my walls down to nothing. I did not need that and I did not need that. I _know_ now that I have friends—I not longer have that doubt, so I know that not all of your words were true. Family…” Enjolras paused again.

“Marius, I don’t think that you know anything about my home life, or my family, so I think what I’m going to do, is to give you a small tutorial. I _do_ have family, though I don't think that I have lived the life that you think. I did not grow up as privileged as you seem to think that I did—sure, we always had money but I lost my Mom when I was young and my father married…his new wife, Karen before I was 6. She doesn’t like me much and was never quiet about that—she doesn't like any of us in fact, because her daughter was the perfect little darling.”

“Any of you?” Marius interrupted softly, not looking at Enjolras, as he tried to stop his head from spinning around as he learned more than he had ever imagined. Another slight hesitation, this one more pronounced than before, before Enjolras pulled out his wallet and flipped to a picture before, after another moment or two, flipping past it and pulling out a picture from a pocket in his wallet. It was a picture of three boys, all of them looking almost exactly the same. It was a little eerie looking at a picture of what looked like Enjolras at different ages in the same picture. 

“Those are my two brothers and I—the oldest is Max, myself and then my younger brother Julian.” Enjolras pointed out softly. Marius stared at the picture for a moment and tried to imagine why Enjolras wouldn’t have mentioned any of this before and why it was coming up now of all times. 

“You’ve never mentioned your brothers before.” Marius blurted out before he could think about it. Enjolras flinched a little, taking the picture back and placing it in his wallet before putting his wallet away. Enjolras swallowed hard and looked towards the window, a glint of tears in his eyes. 

“Julian’s actually here tonight—we don’t see each other much and we don’t talk a whole lot. We’re close but we just don’t…we just don’t talk that much. I think now that we’ve reconnected, we’ll be less likely to fall out of touch again.”

“Why did you fall out of touch to begin with? It…it looks like you were close to your brothers.” He tried feebly, wondering if maybe they had just moved far away from one another. But if…Julian? If Julian was here tonight, he couldn’t live that far away... 

“It was hard after Max passed away.” Marius froze, turning slowly to look at Enjolras who was once again looking out the window, this time with more wistfulness than Marius had ever seen on anyone. “Max was laid back and happy—he was always ready to laugh and to have a good time. He’s the one that introduced me to Rousseau and politics in general and he was with me at the first protest I ever went to. It's really because of him that I am who I am today." Enjolras stopped for a second, before continuing, his eyes focused on some far off point. 

"He was really happy that I wanted to grow up and change the world and wanted to help me do it. Karen however…Karen didn’t like it and she thought that we were ‘corrupting’ her daughter, Sally. There was a fight, a big fight, between Karen and Max, around the time that Max turned 18 and she threw Max out of the house, and my Dad never stopped her so Max found somewhere else to go.” A tear slipped down Enjolras’ cheek.

“Max…” he paused, his voice shaky as he tried to avoid crying. “I was 17 the last time that I seen him. He snuck in for Julian’s birthday party and we had a great time together. Max got sick shortly thereafter and next we heard, he was gone. He was there one day, gone the next—it happened so fast. I didn’t…I can’t lie, it really messed me up, and it messed up Julian and we kind of went our separate ways to deal with it. I left home as soon as I could and I haven’t been home since, because I couldn’t…I couldn’t be in the house with her knowing that she was _happy_ that my brother was gone. Julian still goes back occasionally for my Dad’s sake, but I can’t bring myself to do it, and that was a bit of a problem between us for a while.”

There was a long silence, in which Marius’ mind reeled through everything that he had learnt and Enjolras pulled himself together, unwilling to cry anymore for something that he couldn’t change. Enjolras did realize, however, that Julian and he had more to talk about than he had previously thought. 

“I am not the person that you seem to think that I am,” Enjolras continued softly, suddenly, causing Marius’ head to snap up to look at him in shock, though Enjolras didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking off somewhere into the distance. “I’m sorry if you still see me as that person, but I cannot give you that power over me any longer—that power to break me down. So I need to ask you this Marius: 

Are you willing to get to know me better before running your mouth, or am I asking you to walk away from Les Amis and not return?” 

\--- 

Enjolras watched as Marius stared at him, thinking. For the first time in a long time, Enjolras mused that being a mind reader might be a good thing in selective situations if he could only use the power that selectively. Shaking his head slightly (not enough for Marius to see, of course, because who knows how he would take that at this time) Enjolras returned his thoughts to the matter at hand. 

Having delivered the ultimatum, he felt…

Honestly, he felt free.  

He also felt free to have told someone other than Julian about Max. It wasn’t something that he liked to talk about but it was probably something that he needed to talk about it. It seemed like there were a lot of things that he had stood by as a personal creed for a long time that he now knew better—keeping it all bottled up was not beneficial for him in any way that he could think of. He wasn’t ashamed of his brother—far from it, he was proud of having known Max though he mourned for what could’ve been. 

Looking at Marius though, he wondered how he would take his little speech. Perhaps it wasn’t quite the way that he should’ve dealt with it, as he’d always known that Marius needed to be handled with care, but he simply could not stand on the tightrope with Marius any longer. 

For Marius to see him as this marble monster, Marius must not have known him very well, and if he wasn’t willing to try and learn more about Enjolras, then there was nothing more that Enjolras could do for him because he was no longer going to allow people (that couldn’t even talk to him, face to face, unless he needed help!) control his perceptions of the world around him; his friends would still have a say, of course, but no one beyond that. 

He was happy with where he was in life now, and there were people that he needed to talk to, but in general, he was happy and he hadn’t been happy like that in a lot time. All he needed to know beyond this was whether or not Marius was going to continue with them.

\---

Marius starred at Enjolras, then at the wall, then out the window, and then repeated his pattern, waiting a couple seconds on each, though Enjolras got the majority of his attention. 

Instead of the predictable, his entire world had been thrown upside down and everything that he had thought was right was wrong and…had he really been _that_ bad when talking with Enjolras? Looking back, he couldn’t help but flinch slightly. What had started out as jest had become his personal opinion and there was nothing there to substantiate those views. He had been cruel; he had been unjust and worst of all…he hadn’t realized. 

He had honestly not seen that he was hurting Enjolras. 

Mainly because he hadn’t seen the other man as a man; nor had he seen him as a…as a friend. He had seen him as this impenetrable force that could not be touched by word, or weather, or anything else for that matter. He had seen him in rallies and at protests and that was when Enjolras let nothing else touch him and he was that marble angel of justice or what have you but…Enjolras was not like that all the time.

There were times that Enjolras was kind, that he was caring and that he was the human that he had just passionately told him that he was. But Marius had overlooked it. He didn’t know why, but he did know that it had been so much easier for Enjolras to be this non-human entity than it was for him to be the human that he actually was. Looking at him, really looking at him, he had no idea how he had ignored it for so long.

To his surprise, Enjolras headed for the door, murmuring "I'll give you time to think." Marius scrambled to grab him before he left, and managed to grab his arm. Enjolras turned to face him. 

He hesitated a moment before deciding to ask, murmuring "What do you see?" Looking at him directly, he noticed the confusion on Enjolras' face, so he clarified. "What do you see...when you look at me, what do you see?" There was a silence, before Enjolras looked him straight in the eyes and answered. 

"I see someone with a lot of potential; a man who could be my friend as soon as that man rids himself of his ego."

And with that, he swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everybody that has waited and continued to support this despite the long pause between the recent chapters and I can only hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I have writing it and I apologize again for the wait. 
> 
> Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated :)


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